


Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - AU Rewrite

by killtherat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 135,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killtherat/pseuds/killtherat
Summary: How might OoTP have panned out differently? After failing to escape Voldemort in the graveyard Harry is captured and imprisoned in Malfoy Manor - almost certain this is the end until Voldemort lets him go free.  An Alternate Universe story where not everyone at the Ministry believes Fudge's story, and Harry has to take matters into his own hands.
Comments: 49
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

A/N

If you've read my fan fictions before you'll know it's been years since I wrote anything!

Over the Christmas break I started reading Harry Potter again, something I had been wanting to do after years of not reading anything at all. I really enjoyed the story, but reading OoTP from the perspective of an adult frustrated me.

There was no doubt in my mind that Harry had suffered a major trauma after Voldemort's resurrection, and though the adults in his life sympathised, they all failed him abysmally. I had the writing bug again, so wanted to redo the OoTP with small variations of things that could have been different for Harry.

I also wanted to explore a different Ministry sub-plot - the idea that someone like Scrimgeour or Amelia Bones simply accepted Fudge's assurances didn't sit well with me during my re-read (though I understand the purpose for JKR's plot). So there will be variations and new ideas for the Ministry reaction too.

I've also never found many AU fan fictions where Harry did not manage to escape Voldemort's resurrection, so I wanted to include that in my story too.

There will be angst, this is not a light hearted and fluffy story, but I don't think it's going to be too dark and gloomy. It also won't be "super powerful and amazing Harry" (a common fanfic trope).

At times I will use one-liners or short excerpts from the books or movies because they're either perfect, or there's no point in re-writing the scene just for the sake it rewriting it. I'm okay with that, I'm not making any profit. I'm an amateur writer without a lot of free time, so I do my best to craft a cool story that I hope people will enjoy.

* * *

'NOW!' Harry yelled; he didn't think he could have held on for another moment anyway – he pulled his wand upwards with an almighty wrench, and the golden thread broke; the case of light vanished, the phoenix song died – but the shadowing figures of Voldemort's victims did not disappear – they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Harry from his gaze –

And Harry ran as he had never run in his life, knocking two stunned Death Eaters aside as he passed; he zig-zagged behind headstones, feeling their curses following him, hearing them hit the headstones – he was dodging curses and graves, pelting towards Cedric's body, no longer aware of the pain in his leg, his whole being concentrated on what he had to do –

'Stun him!' he heard Voldemort scream.

Ten feet from Cedric, Harry dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it. Gripping his wand more tightly, he dashed out from behind the angel –

'Impedimenta!' he bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his shoulder at the Death Eaters running at him.

From a muffled yell, he thought he had stopped at least one of them, but there was no time to turn and look; he jumped over the Cup and dived as he heard more wand blasts behind him; more jets of light flew over his head as he fell, stretching out his hand to grab Cedric's arm –

'Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!' shrieked Voldemort.

Harry's hand closed on Cedric's wrist, one tombstone stood between him and Voldemort, but Cedric was too heavy to carry, and the Cup was out of reach –

Voldemort's red eyes flamed in the darkness. Harry saw his mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand, and Harry did the same, but it wasn't their voices than rang out through the night ending it all.

'Expelliarmus!'

In one cruel instant, it was over.

Before Harry could comprehend what was happening his wand was wrenched from his hand, and in a split second of horror he watched as it spun through the air and landed a mere ten feet away – but it might have well been ten miles away for all the difference it made. On the other side of the tombstone that separated them Voldemort's red eyes gleamed in triumph, and he lowered his wand as the Killing Curse fell silent on his lips.

Without needing to think about it Harry reacted. Releasing Cedric's wrist he made a break for his wand, but it was already too late. A cloaked figure picked up his wand before he could even get close to it. Still he lunged again in sheer desperation, but the reward for his determination was a swift kick in the face, one that sent him sprawling back to the rocky and unkempt ground.

Tasting blood in his mouth Harry pushed himself up to his knees, watching on in despair as the Death Eaters reformed the circle around him. The one holding his wand taunted him, holding it out and twirling it through their fingers as they laughed gleefully.

The renewed silence was deafening, Harry conscious of every sound he made as he staggered back to his feet, every shuddered breath. No one said a word, not even Voldemort who simply looked at Harry, watching him in interest. Trembling Harry cast his eyes around, sick to his stomach as he saw that once again he was trapped.

He had failed.

In sheer desperation he looked past the circle of Death Eaters, waiting to see the shadowy figures of his parents, seeking their protection, their advice. But they were completely gone, and he was alone once again. Harry turned back to the Death Eater who had taken his wand, wondering if maybe they'd give it back, if they'd let him defend himself in a fair fight just as Voldemort had permitted earlier.

'Harry,' Voldemort whispered, moving around the tombstone so they were separated by nothing.

Voldemort peered at him with what seemed like interest…curiosity. But Harry didn't spare a single thought for these implications. His heart was racing, body trembling as adrenaline surged within him, telling him to do something…do something!

Holding Voldemort's gaze he daringly took a step to his right, towards the Cup. From here he could reach it if he was quick enough. Cedric would understand that he had tried to reach his body, that he just couldn't make it, he couldn't take him home. He had to save his own life now. He had to try.

Still watching in great interest, Harry could feel Voldemort sizing him up, likely knowing what he was about to do. Before he could think about it too much Harry lunged for the Cup, discarding all thought of Cedric. Before he even got close Voldemort flicked his wand and sent the Cup tumbling a few feet further away, just out of Harry's desperate reach.

'Courageous,' Voldemort commented softly, just audible over the Death Eater's laughter. 'A Gryffindor, of course.'

Harry felt only sheer, unadulterated panic. He looked at the Cup desperately, his only salvation from death, his only hope. Knowing he had to try he ran for the Cup a second time, his hand reaching out for it – and for a moment he thought he saw it move of its own accord, lifting up from the ground and moving a few inches towards him.

Hope erupted inside him as the Cup came soaring, certain that he was going to make it – that he would reach the Portkey. It was barely half a foot from his fingertips before it suddenly changed course, knocked backwards by a flash of light.

The Cup clanged loudly as it hit a nearby tombstone and fell to the ground. Harry cried out in disappointment, crushed by another failure. Yet he refused to give up, he was still reaching for it when a hooded figure seized him from behind and wrenched him away.

'No!' he pleaded, an involuntary shout. He struggled as the Death Eater wrenched his arms behind his back, desperate to free himself. If he could just free one arm he could make it, he could reach the Cup. 'No, let me go!'

He fell silent as Voldemort came towards him, struck dumb by the pain that was building in his scar, pain he had forgotten about. Panting for breath he struggled to stay upright, his mind foggy with panic. This was it. Voldemort was going to kill him now. It was over.

'Harry. I'm impressed.'

Voldemort praise came ever so softly, but those present hung on to his every word, not missing a single thing. Beginning to feel as though he might be sick Harry tried to look Voldemort in the eye, to hold his gaze and face him. But his eyes kept darting away, looking to the Cup where it lay on the ground, still wondering if he could make it.

An involuntary movement struck him, he jerked forward as if making another break for it only to be yanked back by the Death Eater holding him. Soft laughter echoed around the circle again, and it became harder and harder to hold himself together. He suddenly felt old and weary beyond his years, his heart aching as the pit in his stomach opened up further…there was no hope. There was nothing he could do.

'Unarmed, and yet you persist in trying to save yourself.' Coming closer again Voldemort studied Harry close, and this time it was impossible for him to look away. 'And wandless magic, too.'

There was a long pause, Harry holding his breath as he looked Voldemort in the eye and waited for the fatal curse to end it all. And then –

'I've underestimated you, Harry Potter. Perhaps tonight is not your time.'

Harry's gaze turned towards the Cup yet again, wondering if Voldemort was going to let him go free. But he was sorely mistaken.

'No, Harry. Perhaps you'll have other uses beyond the restoration of my body.' Turning away he looked around at the Death Eaters, seeking out one in particular. 'Lucius. Can I entrust to you the usual arrangements?'

Everyone seemed to collectively hold their breaths, each of them staring at Lucius Malfoy who held Voldemort's unnerving gaze. Malfoy looked at him with a strange expression, the upward tilt of his head suggesting it was pride.

'My Lord,' he said shortly. 'It would be the highest honour.'

'No!' Harry shouted loudly, wishing he didn't sound so frightened. 'Let me go!' he demanded, pushing back at the Death Eater holding him, fighting their grip. 'Let me go!'

Voldemort ignored his shouts entirely. Satisfied with Malfoy's response he rounded the circle of Death Eaters as he thanked them at large, congratulating them on being there to witness his rebirth. When he passed Harry he didn't even glance at him, either ignoring or oblivious to him…and then he was gone, disappearing into the night with a whirl of black smoke.

The moment Voldemort disappeared the atmosphere changed so dramatically Harry fell silent in shock. The circular ranks broke as the witches and wizards stepped out of formation, some removing their hoods. A hurried conversation broke out, Harry startled to realised they sounded shocked…some even panicked. One who had removed her hood was a long haired witch, and she seized another Death Eater by their robes, shouting angrily at them.

There wasn't time to watch the spectacle unfold, for not all of the Death Eaters immediately succumbed to their shock. Lucius Malfoy had a pained expression on his face, but he did not fail to act on the agreement he had made with his master. Striding over to Harry he roughly pulled him away from the other Death Eater, making him stumble over his own feet. Looking back Harry wondered for one last moment if perhaps there was still hope, if his parents would come back for him now, if anyone would come for him.

The Death Eaters began to disperse, and from the corner of his eye he witnessed one of them stepping over Cedric's body. The hem of their cloak dragged leaves and dirt over his face, but they ignored his body completely, simply walking over him as they began to disappear into the night.

'Let me go!' Harry demanded, knowing that it was useless, that he stood not a chance of saving himself anymore.

Nevertheless he persisted. When the opportunity presented itself he dug his heels into the ground, kicking out from a nearby tombstone to make Malfoy stumble. Malfoy gave an angry snarl and wrenched his arms tighter behind his back. Something that felt like an electric shock startled him, the painful jolt only accelerating his panic, making him more desperate to do anything he could.

'Stop,' Malfoy growled impatiently. 'Be still.'

'Let me go!'

'Be still, unless you wish to lose a limb.'

Too panicked to listen Harry couldn't stop. Every fibre of his being told him to keep fighting, to break free of Malfoy's grip and make a run for it – to the Cup, into the darkness. It didn't matter where he would go, but he had to try.

The opportunity never presented itself, for the next thing he knew he was overcome by agony once again, the Cruciatus curse taking hold as his entire being seemingly was set on fire. When it was over he found himself bent over double, kneeling on the ground with his arms twisted up behind him. He gasped for breath, feeling as though he might be sick.

Still holding him still, Lucius Malfoy was impatient with his charge. 'Be still,' he repeated.

This time Harry was too shocked to do anything but listen. He closed his eyes, wishing for this to be over already, for them to simply kill him. Anything would be better than having to go through that again, even death. But it wasn't over yet, and in the next instant he felt an entirely new curse, one he'd never even heard of before.

His entire body was under pressure, some invisible force squeezing him tighter and tighter until he could no longer breathe. He couldn't scream, though he wanted to, he couldn't move an inch…when it was finally over he cried out in relief and gasped for air.

When he breathed in he knew something had changed. He tentatively opened his eyes as Malfoy wrenched him back to his feet, finding himself somewhere else entirely. There wasn't much time to look around, for Malfoy was already leading him towards the large wrought-iron gate that loomed ahead, one flanked by tall green hedges on either side.

They strode straight through it as though nothing there, other Death Eaters appearing out of thin air and following them. As they walked Harry looked down a long driveway at the end of which stood a grand manor house, the light shining from only a few windows giving it an eerie feeling.

It was only a glimpse he got, for a moment later his head was pushed down by Malfoy, forcing him to look only at the white gravel over which they walked. Focused on keeping himself together he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, for it was taking everything he had to keep going.

Finally they reached the manor, Harry's foot catching a little as Malfoy led him up a series of low stone steps. And then the atmosphere changed as they stepped inside, the sounds of conversation and footsteps echoing to suggest a large entrance room. Not daring to lift his head Harry cooperated, crossing the hall and then finding himself being pushed into a corner of the room.

With Malfoy pressing his face in the corner Harry could only listen, hearing the sound of hurried footsteps and worried conversations. When Malfoy released him to swap places with another Harry didn't even consider trying to fight. His mentality now was absolute cooperation…and listening. It was astounding to him, but he couldn't help but think that the Death Eaters sounded as panicked as he felt. At the very least they were disorganised and chaotic until Malfoy stepped up, addressing them all and calling for quiet.

Malfoy was speaking to them in a low voice, and trying to hear Harry turned his head, but the moment he did the Death Eater seized him by the hair and shoved his face back into the corner. His glasses knocked askew Harry cooperated, and he stopped trying to listen. Instead he closed his eyes, and though he didn't believe in any muggle God he started praying, just as he had when he hoped for it to down in the cauldron. He prayed for something to happen, to hear the swish of a cloak as Dumbledore arrived to save him, for someone like Sirius to come rushing in and pull this Death Eater off him, to rip him limb from limb.

'What happened to your leg?' the Death Eater asked, prodding Harry with the tip of his wand and repeating his question.

He tried to answer, struggling around the whispered word, 'Acromantula.'

'Speak!' they said loudly, and this time they shocked him with their wand, sending a painful jolt through his body.

'Acromantula!' Harry answered, desperately wishing he sounded stronger, braver.

The Death Eater chuckled under his breath. 'If you're not paralysed by now, you'll live. As long as gangrene doesn't set in.'

Without further preamble the Death Eater set to work on him. His school robes were roughly yanked off his shoulders and tossed aside, hands reaching around his neck to unravel the knot in his tie, discarding that too. He patted Harry down, his arms, lower back and stomach, his legs and ankles.

Left only in his trousers and white school shirt, Harry looked from the corner of his eye at his discarded robes and tie. He had hated wearing that tie every day, a dislike impossible not to develop after hearing Ron complain about it for four years straight. The things were a damn nuisance, but right now he'd give anything to have it back…how on earth were his school robes and tie going to help him? But why did they have to take them away? Why did they have to strip him of his Hogwarts uniform, of his Gryffindor house colours?

In a final blow to whatever confidence he had left, the Death Eater took away his glasses, leaving anything more than a foot or so away a blurry mass. The loss made him feel even more vulnerable and scared. He was blinded now, stripped of everything and anything that gave him a small element of power, even the power to see.

Minutes passed without incident, Harry remaining silent and still as the Death Eater held him in the corner. The only thing he could do was listen to what little he could hear of what was going on, making out only the sounds of distant conversations…something was going on, something that had occupied more than a few of the Death Eaters had followed them here.

Summoning up the nerve, Harry stole a look at the face of the Death Eater holding him captive. It was an older man, his hair greyed and face lined with age, and he looked as stressed as Malfoy had seemed. The Death Eater was paying him very little attention, but when he moved a little Harry quickly averted his gaze, not wanting to be caught looking.

But a few moments later he got the nerve again, and he stole another look - longer this time. He'd never seen this man before, but his features were distinct and easy to make out, even without his glasses.

What would they do to him next? What was going to happen to him?

Blessedly the question was answered only a few more minutes later. The Death Eater who had been standing guard now swapped places with Lucius Malfoy, who took Harry by the arm and pulled him away from the corner. Following his lead he began walking, trying his best to look around blindly. But all he could see was the proportions of a grand room, large paintings that adorned the walls, a shape that might have been a grand piano…and then darkness.

Malfoy led him through an open door, and the light from his wand illuminated the small corridor in which they had entered. Harry's heart still skipped a beat when the floor disappeared beneath his foot, stomach jolting when he unexpectedly took a step down onto a steep staircase. As they descended it was deathly quiet but for the sound of his own breathing and footsteps, the silence unnerving him as he waited to see what was coming for him down there.

Upon reaching flat ground again Malfoy gave him a rough shove in the back, making him stumble forward unceremoniously. His arms were released now, allowing him to catch himself when his injured leg gave way. Landing hard on his knee he hastened to get back up, whirling around and quickly taking in the vague shape of a cavernous room, and he turned around to Malfoy again. He was determined to put on a brave face, to say something, but Malfoy was gone.

Harry saw only the hem of his robes disappearing around the edge of the heavy door before it slammed shut, the clock clicking ominously. The moment it closed Harry found himself plunged into darkness, and he remained very still exactly where he stood. Petrified with fear he stood waiting.

The silence down here was overwhelming. It pressed in on him from all around until he could hear the sound of his own heart, the blood rushing through his head as he tried in vain to steady his breathing. But it was no use, for the more he tried to breathe the harder it became, his struggle only worsened by the dust that filled his throat. It made him cough, settling in his mouth and on his lips.

The situation hit him all at once, and suddenly he could take it no more. In a moment of panic his legs carried him backwards until he crashed into something. He stood there trembling, hands over his mouth as he held back screams – screams of horror, screams for help…he held them back with everything he had.

This wasn't happening, it couldn't be. None of this was real.

Thinking hard, Harry tried to rationalise with himself. This was only a dream…that's all this was. Finding the Tri-Wizard Cup in the centre of that maze had been too easy, that alone couldn't be enough to win the tournament. This was just a cruel and inhumane test from the Third Task, a sick final challenge in which he proved himself worthy of being the winner. Somewhere else Cedric too was enduring this test, had witnessed his worst fear while Harry lay seemingly dead.

Yes…that's all this was. He was still in the Third Task. None of this was real.

Unable to help it he gave a low, mournful cry, stifled by his hands across his mouth. None of this was real, none of this was really happening, it couldn't be. But how could he possibly put an end to it?

Harry sank down to the floor, still trembling as he held himself in one piece. He pulled his knees up to his chest, unconsciously keeping himself small and unthreatening to whoever was to come down here next. Convincing himself that all he needed to do now was wait, he bent his elbow and applied pressure to the cut on the crook of his arm, trying to stop the renewed bleeding. His shirt sleeve was damp with streaks of blood, making it cling to his forearm.

Incapable of anything else, Harry resigned himself to sit and wait in the dark silence. Soon this would be nothing more than a horrible memory that would never be spoken of, not to anyone. Soon, it would be over.

* * *

A/N

Please do leave a review to let me know what you think, and if you're excited about this story. You have no idea the value reviews give to amateur writers. They are our source of encouragement and our inspiration to keep writing this story!

Intention is to post every 1-2 weeks.


	2. The Cellar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 - The Cellar

Cedric is dead. Voldemort is back. I am trapped here.

Harry didn’t know how many hours had passed since it happened…but for quite some time he merely existed in a state of shock. Sitting there in the dark he questioned everything he had ever known, worried that it was all a trick, that nothing he had ever experienced was really true. But after a time he was no longer trying to convince himself that what happened to him that night was merely a trick of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Somehow his thoughts had brought him to some kind of reluctant acceptance, his mind clearing and capable of admitting that what happened to him was real. Despite how terrified this made him feel he clung to the realisation, determined that he was not going to lose his mind. 

He had to keep a steady head if he stood any chance of survival, for that’s what everything would be about from now on – he just had to survive. And so he repeated the facts he was sure of, for despite their horrifying nature they calmed him, helped him feel like he had a hold of the situation. 

Cedric is dead. Voldemort is back. I am trapped here.

These words kept him sane – he knew what the truth was. He saw it happen, all of it, and it was real.

There was no discernible way to keep track of time, but he felt a couple of hours must have passed before he found himself getting to his feet. For the first time since they locked him in this room he felt a flicker of bravery. Surely hours had passed by now, and nothing at all had happened…and so he summoned up his nerve.

Earlier when the horror of what had happened overwhelmed him he had sank down to the floor where he stood, and he had not moved since. But now with great trepidation he rose to his feet, wincing when he bore weight on his injured leg.

It was disconcerting to be in complete darkness. It wasn’t like the middle of the night where he could roam about the castle without lighting his wand, it was the complete absence of light. He couldn’t see his own hand right in front of his face. 

The darkness made moving around nerve wracking, for he had no idea what he was going to find in front of him. When Malfoy first brought him down here he got a very brief glimpse of a cavernous room, but that was all. As he moved he kept his hand pressed against the wall, but he’d barely taken three steps before his heart leapt into his throat - the wall disappeared. 

Taking a small step back he found the wall again, and with a more careful investigation he found it was a corner. No, not a corner…a large square pillar of four sides. Keeping his hand pressed flat against it Harry made his way around, counting the sides that must be a meter long until he was back where he started.

For a few moments he stood there, dwelling on the small discovery of the pillar. Malfoy had brought him down stairs, meaning he was underground in a basement…and then realisation hit him. He felt stupid for not making the connection straight away. This had to be Malfoy Manor. The cellar beneath the drawing room.

Feeling bolder now he had figured out where he was he started to take a few steps forward, one hand tentatively stretched out in the darkness, feeling for something. He made it ten paces before he slowed, certain he was about to walk into something, that there was some kind of trick. For the second time his heart leapt into his throat when he encountered the next pillar. 

Letting his hand rest there he turned his head to look over his shoulder, his eyes still searching the pitch darkness for some kind of light. He began to feel dizzy and disoriented, suddenly thinking he might be lost in here. Before he stood up he knew where he was, he had been somewhere near the entrance. But when he first sat down what way had he been facing?

What way was he facing now?

As his thoughts began to race he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. But he couldn’t stop wishing for light, yearning for it in sheer desperation just so he could see something. And then, he could. It came on slowly, but it was a definite change. There was light coming from somewhere, a small trickle that created shadows, his blurry vision able to make out the difference between the solid wall beside him and the empty space. 

It took a short while to realise that he was the one creating this light, that it was coming from his hand pressed against the wall. A sense of hope bloomed inside of him when he took his hand off the wall, but then he had to turn away from it, his eyes stinging from the light he held in his palm. As his eyes adjusted he looked back at the ball of light, grateful for its sudden appearance and not yet questioning how he had conjured it.

He began to look around now, able to see a few feet in front of himself even if it was blurry. It was as he had already ascertained, a cavernous cellar with enormous stone pillars that must form the foundations of the house. Looking up he observed the dome shapes the pillars formed in the ceiling, and looking down he noted the flagstone floor.

Taking a few moments to collect his thoughts he gingerly leant down to look at his left leg, examining the wounds from the Acromantula he encountered in the maze. His school trousers were torn and stuck to his skin, the single puncture wound a bloody and painful mess. Wanting to put pressure on the wound he looked at his hands, but they were filthy with dirt and so he kept them away. The Death Eater’s taunt of gangrene still rang through his head, and it was hard enough already to keep the wound clean down here in this cellar.

The light in the palm of his hand began to grow brighter, and so too did his resolve. Moving around the cellar properly he found that yes, he had lost his orientation in the dark. He would not have made it back to the entrance were it not for the light. Making his way back there now he looked at the heavy door that had locked him in, but at first he hesitated to go close. Paranoia told him it was a bad idea, that the Death Eaters were just on the other side, waiting for him to try something.

Still keen to investigate, Harry tentatively approached and brushed his fingers across the door. It felt like solid timber, but he didn’t dare tap his knuckles against it to test. There was no door handle on the inside, and it occurred to him that would be by design. He got the feeling he wasn’t the first person to ever be held captive in the cellar of Malfoy Manor. 

Satisfied there was nothing useful for him at the door Harry turned away and continued searching the cellar, intrigued to find that while it was quite large, it was also empty. He had to walk slowly for his footsteps echoed, as did the sound of his coughing when he breathed in the dust he had disturbed. He knew that Malfoy supposedly kept his dark artefacts down here, that Mr Weasley and the Ministry had raided Malfoy Manor more than once, but there was nothing to find. 

All there was to suggest there had been dark artefacts down here was the flagstone floor. Some areas were discoloured and heavy with dust, while others were clean as if there had been furniture sitting on them. Elsewhere there were dusty footprints that didn’t belong the him, the occasional spot of mud or leaves. 

It was as he suspected. When they brought him here they had made him wait upstairs, where he had spent maybe fifteen minutes held in the corner, unable to look around. He had listened to the commotion of activity, Malfoy giving instructions he couldn’t quite make out. Until his arrival this cellar had no doubt been full of dark and illegal artefacts. But there was not a thing left down there, not a single item large or small, and Harry searched every corner. 

After a while he resigned himself to the reality. There was nothing for him to find down there. Nothing. With reluctance he made his way back towards the cellar entrance, sitting down on the flagstone floor and leaning against a stone pillar. There he waited as time passed, though how much time he couldn’t be sure. 

To his amazement at times he heard sounds above him, sounds that somehow penetrated the domed stone ceiling. It was mainly the rhythmic thud of what he deduced to be footsteps, and then sometimes voices. He strained his ears to hear what was being said, to make out who might be up there, but the occasional sounds he got were indistinguishable except for tone. It was the occasional dispute, and it seemed only the raised voices were audible to him. But someone was up there, that was for sure. Harry was definitely not alone, and he couldn’t quite decide if that was a good or bad thing. 

In the palm of his hand he continued to hold the ball of light, cradling it and gently passing it back and forth between his hands as though it were a strange liquid. It was his only form of entertainment, the only thing he could do to pass the time, and it gave him more than light. After a while it became about more than being able to see, but rather it brought him a small sense of comfort…of control. He didn’t have a wand and yet he’d conjured light. Perhaps he wasn’t completely powerless after all. 

In those early hours the greatest relief he could find was in the knowledge that Voldemort was not around. Though his head ached, his scar did not hurt with the fiery burn he had felt before. The headache and dread that lingered in the pit of his stomach was just related to his situation as a whole…it had nothing to do with Voldemort, or his proximity to him. Wherever he was right now, Harry selfishly hoped he stayed there, that whoever he was terrorising could handle it so he didn’t have to.

Merlin, what he wouldn’t give for some water. The dust in the cellar was awful, settling on his skin, invading his mouth and lungs. The Death Eaters would give him some water, surely…at the very least they weren’t going to let him die of dehydration. Not if Voldemort wanted him for some use. 

How long could a person last without food and water? Could a wizard last longer than a muggle? He tried to remember if he knew this random fact, his heart aching when he realised Hermione would probably have told him. 

Allowing himself a few moments to let his mind wander blissfully, Harry pictured the door opening, imagined Professor Dumbledore swooping into the room to rescue him. He wondered what the Headmaster was doing right now. The whole school must be locked down, the Ministry probably in chaos. Two Tri-Wizard champions were missing, vanishing from the centre of a maze in which they were supposed to claim victory for their school. 

He thought about Ron and Hermione, for while he knew they’d be okay he also knew they would be in a state, their own minds and imagination driving them mad. If the tables were turned and it was one of them missing Harry knew he would be going mental. As his mind wandered he also thought of Sirius, wondering if he had managed to steal a newspaper from Hogsmeade…his and Cedric’s disappearance had to be front page news.

At this last thought his mind wandered, though he willed it not to. Voldemort had said there might be other uses for him, and Harry could imagine the implications of this, that Voldemort might use him for something terrible. He might force Harry to do something, he might use him as means to negotiate something from Dumbledore.

Sitting there with his head against the wall he became increasingly aware of how his body ached, still feeling little shots of pain throughout his body. He thought vividly of the Cruciatus Cruse, having learned from Professor Moody that victims might feel flashbacks of it for days after, their nerve endings still in shock.

This thought gave him no comfort, for the mere thought of that curse reminded him that he was sure to suffer it again. Voldemort had enjoyed causing him pain, and so had Malfoy…maybe that was a part of the curse…maybe the enjoyment of inflicting pain made it worse for the sufferer. Regardless, Harry knew it was coming for him again.

He took a great breath, his former sense of calm vanishing as quickly as it had come. As he thought about what must be coming for him he felt his body responding, his arms and legs tensing up, heart beat picking up a little. An intense feeling of despair returned to him, one that made his breaths shudder…he couldn’t go through the Cruciatus Curse again. There was no way he could do it, no way he could survive. His heart would give out, he would die…he would rather die. 

At some stage he must have slept, for he was conscious of the fact that he was rousing…that something had disturbed a restful state. It was pain, the kind that grew slowly over the course of a few minutes, leaving him sitting there with his fingers pressed against his scar, his heart rate picking up already. He knew what this meant. He knew what was coming. 

The pain intensified sharply, and his body reacted fast than his mind. Nearly tripping over in his haste he scrambled to his feet, a cold sweat breaking out as he began to tremble. Acclimatising himself to the pain he bent over double, hands on his knees as he closed his eyes and talked himself through what would surely come next.

Whatever Voldemort wanted him to do, he just had to do it. That was his only task right now. Survive. 

He sensed Voldemort’s approach before he heard the footsteps upstairs, the voices coming down towards him. The anticipation was worse than the actual event, and at the sound of footsteps echoing down the stairs Harry managed to get control of his breathing, managed to collect himself just in time. 

Standing up straight he moved a few feet to his left so that he was not found cowering against one of the pillars, so that he could face Voldemort head on, just as he had in the graveyard. Though he feared he might not get it back again he looked at the ball of light in the palm of his hand, willing it to go away, and to his relief it vanished. 

Survive…just survive. 

In the final split second before Voldemort emerged Harry reached up to touch his scar. He pressed his fingers as hard as he could against his forehead, finding a momentary reprieve. But the pain returned the moment he removed his hand, yet he forced himself to lower it, to look Voldemort in the eye and show no weakness.

The heavy door opened as Voldemort entered the cellar, and the moment they laid eyes on one another Harry’s scar burned even more painfully. His brave front immediately took a hit when he lowered his head and touched his scar again, panting for breath.

‘Harry…look at me.’

Allowing himself a moment’s hesitation, Harry again removed his hand from his scar and looked up, facing Lord Voldemort once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters covering Harry’s captivity won’t go on beyond chapter 10 or so, after which we get into the aftermath and then the summer.


	3. The Dark Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 - The Dark Lord

The heavy door opened as Voldemort entered the cellar, and the moment they laid eyes on one another Harry's scar burned even more painfully. His brave front immediately took a hit when he lowered his head and touched his scar again, panting for breath.

'Harry…look at me.'

Allowing himself a moment's hesitation, Harry again removed his hand from his scar and looked up, facing Lord Voldemort once again. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to their wand light, but the moment they did he wished he couldn't see a thing. The sight before him was even worse than he remembered from last night, as if he had been too frightened to really appreciate the horror of who he was looking at…or what.

The person in front of him resembled a human being in silhouette, but one deeply corrupted and violated by the Dark Arts. Harry remembered the surge of icy terror he felt last night when he saw Voldemort rising from the cauldron, and no matter how prepared he tried to be he felt that terror again.

The Dark Arts had mutilated Voldemort, leaving his ghostly pale skin stretched across his face, his nose completely flat, a smooth plane from brow to top lip broken only by the slit-like nostrils of a snake. The only reprieve was that Harry couldn't see him properly without his glasses…a small blessing.

He was tall, that much Harry remembered clearly from last night, and when Voldemort moved closer it took everything Harry had not to shrink away from him, to not cower away. Voldemort moved as though still not quite familiar with his body, still learning to use and understand it. When he drew nearer he seemed to glide effortlessly, though Harry could hear his footsteps echoing across the empty cellar.

'Return his glasses to him.'

Several masked Death Eaters had followed him down, and one promptly came towards Harry with his hand outstretched, holding his glasses by the nose piece. Harry took his glasses back and put them on, all the while wishing he didn't have to properly see what was before him.

But there would be no avoiding it, and so he raised his gaze and looked at Voldemort. No doubt horror and disgust showed on his face, for Voldemort seemed to smirk at his reaction. Voldemort's red eyes stared at him, studying him at length, observing. This time Harry took a small step back, involuntarily…bile was rising in his throat, making him feel as though he'd be sick. He felt his skin erupt in goosebumps, beginning to feel cold air sweeping down into the cellar.

'You showed great bravery last night, Harry Potter,' Voldemort said softly. 'But don't exhaust yourself in determination to face me proudly. Braver than you have surrendered themselves at my feet. Your mother and father.'

Harry stared at Voldemort, and for one split second his fears vanished. 'They didn't surrender.'

It seemed Voldemort had been expecting this, but he didn't retaliate. Rather his smirk grew a little, making Harry wonder if this was an attempt to smile. Was Voldemort smiling at him?

'I underestimated you, Harry. I underestimated you as a child.'

Voldemort started to move closer, and the pain in Harry's scar worsened sharply. It made him flinch and look away, screwing his face up as he took another step back, trying to keep distance between them.

'I underestimated your parents, your mother in particular. And I underestimated you last night. Such determination,' he commented, lingering on that last word. 'Such defiance.'

At this Harry felt the most wonderfully relaxing sensation as Voldemort cast the Imperius curse on him. It was in sheer bliss that he sank to his knees, his back bending as he began to lower himself into complete surrender at Voldemort's feet. Everything felt better now, and the potent sense of relief was intoxicating. He wanted to stay like this forever.

Only at the last second did he regain his thoughts, did he hear his own voice shouting 'No!' while wildly throwing himself backwards.

There was little room behind himself in which to move, and he sent himself crashing back against the corner of a stone pillar. Scrambling to find his feet Harry panted for breath, getting back up and looking at Voldemort in anger. He was ready to shout again, but he fell silent once more at the expression on Voldemort's face, one of unmistakeable pride.

There was a long pause now, and still Voldemort was edging closer, forcing Harry to back away yet again. 'I should never have tried to kill you as a baby. It was my greatest mistake.'

Harry hastily looked over his shoulder, heart sinking when he realised that every step forward Voldemort took literally backed him up against the pillar. But he couldn't let this monster get close to him, not again…he couldn't bear to be touched by him again. Already his scar was in aching, a cold sweat breaking out across his body.

'When I killed your mother you didn't cry. You might have thought she was playing a game,' Voldemort stated cruelly. 'But when you saw I wasn't your father…'

'Stop!' he said forcefully. He didn't want to hear this. Not from him.

'I could never stand the sound of crying. It grated at my very nerves, so I tried to kill you. My greatest mistake was not taking you alive. You see Harry, you would have made a loyal Death Eater.'

'…Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –'

'No,' he said lowly, unable to stop himself. He looked back to him, horrified to find Voldemort was again drawing nearer, almost close enough to touch him. 'I would never-'

'Had I taken you as a child, you indeed would have.' Voldemort seemed genuinely disappointed with his failure to see this opportunity. 'You'd have been raised by the finest pure blood family. You'd have learned the Dark Arts from me. Like I said, Harry…my greatest mistake.'

'Is that what you want from me now?' Harry questioned boldly, incensed by the very thought of what Voldemort had suggested. 'Is that why I'm here?'

Voldemort shook his head, looking at Harry without blinking. 'I could never gain your loyalty now. You will prove useful to me in other ways.'

There was a long pause now, Harry taking a split second to look behind Voldemort towards the stairs. The cellar that had once been a comfortable temperature was now distinctly chilled, and Harry came to suspect the reason he could hear his mother's voice wasn't because of Voldemort's recounting of her murder.

He broke the silence, asking tentatively, 'Is there a Dementor here?'

Almost as if he seemed impressed, Voldemort lifted his head a little, staring. 'You feel it, yes?'

Knowing he was expected to answer, Harry nodded.

'I've been told of how they affect you,' Voldemort said slowly, continuing to stare at him. 'That you are particularly susceptible.'

Unnerved, Harry glanced around at the Death Eaters, wishing they would say or do something other than stand there silently. They were unsettling, this sense perhaps worsened by the Dementor, but not more so than Voldemort who continued staring at him, not blinking even once.

'Why is it here?' he asked, physically withholding a shiver.

'As means to control you,' Voldemort stated. 'You see Harry, torturing you has its purpose. But fear is what will make you remember.'

Without warning the Cruciatus curse struck him, agony consuming every element of his being. He couldn't breathe but to scream, his insides twisting up inside of him and his skin on fire. Frantic with desperation he felt himself clawing at his own body, seeking relief or else he would die.

When it was over he found himself face down on the floor, lungs heaving for breath and throat aching around the screams that had faded. Hearing Voldemort's command to sit up he began to obey without question, though his body ached and shuddered. Moving shakily he pushed himself up from the floor and raised his head a little, still trying to catch his breath. Voldemort seemed satisfied now, and Harry cast his eyes around to the other Death Eaters.

He could feel how the atmosphere had changed now. No longer did the Death Eaters wait subserviently…they had enjoyed that. In the back of his mind he thought he had heard them cheering and laughing, but he couldn't be sure over the sound of his own screams, his own misery. Humiliated and terrorised, Harry again dug deep for any iota of defiance he could muster, and he began to pull himself to his feet.

'Stay down.'

Ignoring Voldemort's command Harry panted for breath and staggered to his feet, one hand reaching out and clinging to the nearby pillar to steady himself. Bringing himself up to his full height he looked Voldemort in the eye, wishing he could do more than simply defy him.

'You will learn to obey me.'

To Harry's surprise he didn't sound annoyed or angry at his refusal, but instead seemed patient. Maybe even understanding.

Don't say it, he thought to himself. Just don't.

'I won't.'

Again he felt the atmosphere among them change, saw the Death Eaters turn their heads as if speaking to one another. They were excited, eager to see what their Dark Lord would do next.

'You will obey me.'

'No.'

Harry watched in trepidation as Voldemort's mouth curved around the word Crucio, knowing he had asked for this, that this one was his own fault. But though he braced himself for the agony he instead gave a comparatively small yelp of discomfort when the curse struck. This time it was different, and for one confusing moment he wondered if Voldemort had lost his nerve. He could still think clearly, he could still see and hear around the pain. He could even remain standing, the pain really more of an annoying discomfort. What was happening?

'You are nothing, Harry.'

Abruptly the pain began to intensify, a great surge making him stagger and clutch at the pillar. Blinking in surprise Harry began to grit his teeth, breathing heavily as he endured it. But terror had returned, his clear mind already warning him of what was about to happen…it was going to get worse. He tried to remain silent, choking back a yell of pain before it escaped his lips.

'Stronger wizards and witches than you have broken at my feet as they learned to obey. And I can make it so much worse.'

As he said these words the pain grew again. Harry's knees buckled, and slowly he sank down to the floor. One arm clutched at his stomach while the other clung to the pillar, still trying to pull himself back to his feet, determined to defy Voldemort, to endure this. But it was never ending, Voldemort not letting up for even a second.

'You will obey me.'

The room grew tangibly colder now, and his resolve to stay strong and resist began to falter. 'No,' Harry gasped, his throat feeling like it was on fire with every breath he took.

'You will obey me.'

A low cry grew deep within his chest, and he had enough presence of mind to hear the Death Eaters beginning to laugh again, enjoying his suffering. His mind was racing, certain there was something he could do, something to make this pain stop – he couldn't do this again, not when he knew how much worse it was going to get.

'Lily, take Harry and go!'

The pain's intensity surged again, tearing an agonised scream from within him, one he couldn't stop. He tried to stifle it, to cover his mouth, but he could barely hold himself up. This was it, this was the full Cruciatus curse…but just as that occurred to him the pain grew again. He collapsed forward onto all fours, his head hanging as he tried to breathe.

'Stop!' he pleaded hoarsely. 'Stop, please!'

'You will obey me.'

'Yes!' he cried out. 'Yes - please, stop!'

As he uttered these pleas he felt all conscious thought leave his mind, his body giving in and surrendering himself to the unbearable torture. Collapsing onto the floor his body began to writhe uncontrollably, screaming louder than he ever had in his life. Every nerve ending was on fire, his muscles tensed in spasm while his insides tore themselves apart.

By the time it was finally over, Harry had only a fleeting thought that he must be dead by now…that he wanted to be dead.

Perhaps a minute passed in silence, broken only by his small gasps for breath, whimpers of pain. Barely able to move it felt like his body didn't belong to him anymore, that it's only use to him was for tormenting him. But finally he managed to convince his eyes to open, and he despaired upon seeing the wand light from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. They were still there, watching him suffer.

To his horror Voldemort began to crouch down where he lay prone. Clumsily he tried to scramble away, but managed only to turn onto his back before finding himself pressed up against the pillar. He didn't care how pathetic he might look to those watching, he shrunk back as much as he could, giving a low moan of dread when he saw Voldemort's pale, spider-like hand reaching for him.

Completely frozen, Harry could do nothing as Voldemort slowly brushed his fingertips over his hair, pushing it aside to observe the scar he had given him thirteen years ago. Harry just lay there, his gasped breaths visible in the frigid air as he waited. Voldemort's fingertips lingered barely half an inch above his forehead, poised to touch his skin, to cause immense pain…the threat was very clear.

'I am merciful,' Voldemort told him. 'When you obey me, you need not feel pain.'

There was a long pause now, Harry only just managing to understand what Voldemort had said. He tried to form a coherent thought, but his attention was elsewhere. Focused only on the immediate threat he was shrinking back even further, conscious of Voldemort's fingertips in his hair, so terrifyingly close to touching him. In the back of his mind he could hear the awful sound of his mother pleading - but no happy memory existed to block her out.

'When you obey me, you need not feel pain. Do you understand?'

Voldemort was waiting for an answer, for Harry's first display of cooperation. For one fleeting moment Harry wanted to tell him to go to hell, that he would never submit to the wizard who had murdered his parents. But he couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough to fight it…he had nothing left.

'Yes.' His voice was barely a whisper, the best he could manage.

There was no expression on Voldemort's face 'Will you obey me?'

'Yes.'

Voldemort lingered only a little longer, continuing to stare at Harry's scar, and then to his overwhelming relief he withdrew his hand and drew away. Realising this was over for now at least Harry closed his eyes in relief, taking a great shuddering breath of air while he listened to the footsteps of Voldemort and the Death Eaters departing the cellar.

As they drew from the room so too did the frigid cold air, leaving behind a mere chill to the air that warned him the Dementor was still nearby. The door closed behind them, lock engaging with an ominous click, but now this didn't signify that Harry was locked in. It signified that they were gone…he was safe again, at least for now.

For quite some time Harry simply lay there in the darkness, finding himself paralysed in shock, unable to really fathom what had just happened. His mind played the scenes over and over again as he tried to understand, but his mind couldn't quite connect the dots, couldn't quite comprehend it all…

And he had given in…he had pleaded Voldemort to stop. He had agreed to obey.

Sniffling miserably Harry finally managed to move a little, raising his hands to his face and covering it. His glasses were gone, knocked aside somewhere, and so he pressed his hands against his forehead as hard as he could, willing it to all go away. His eyes were wet and face stinging uncomfortably…

He tried to sit up for a moment, attempting to push up onto his elbows, but he was asking too much of himself. After trying he slumped back down, his body giving a violent shudder that travelled from head to toe to remind him vividly of the agony he had just endured. Resigning himself to just laying there he closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking, to disassociate himself from everything.

Against his will he emitted a cry of anguish, one that started deep in his chest and escaped his lips in low, stuttered whimpers. There was no use in trying to hold back such misery, not when all hope had failed him.

No one was coming to help him. His parents had tried, somehow they had come to save him in the graveyard, but he had failed them. That was his sole chance. There weren't coming back again, and nor would Dumbledore or Sirius come crashing through the door to rescue him.

This was it for him, for soon enough Voldemort would be ready to kill him, a moment Harry would greet in sheer, blessed relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure to leave me a review, I'd love to know what you think and if you're enjoying the story so far. Cheers!


	4. Obey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 - Obey

No matter how hard he tried to recalibrate himself, Harry he could not stop himself from shaking.

As the dust settled on what just happened he found he was in a constant state of alertness, perpetually deciding between fight or flight. Now that the worst had begun there was no way to turn himself off, no way to calm down and find reprieve, even temporary. All he wanted was to close his eyes and sleep, to push everything away until there was nothing…but it was impossible.

The Dementor was still somewhere nearby, close enough that Harry could feel it every waking moment. It was just a chill in the air, one that hadn't been there when he was first brought here the previous night, and it was just enough to keep him completely on edge. Its distance from him helped, for unlike before the memories of his parents were not tormenting him…but no longer could he find any comfort from them either. Nothing in the world seemed good anymore, any memory he had of his friends or life at Hogwarts seemingly numbed, no longer able to bring joy or happiness.

Needing something else to focus on Harry had put all his concentration and energy into summoning that ball of light again, silently pleading and willing it to come back. After a few minutes of concentrating and whispering Lumos under his breath he saw it beginning to form. It took a while this time, and unlike before it was no where near as bright and helpful. But it was back, and stupid though it were he didn't feel quite so alone…

He tried to focus on something else now, to think about anything other than his present situation, but how could it not occupy his every waking moment? As he sat there in the cool cellar he tentatively studied his hands in the warm glow from the ball of light, flinching as he tended to a fingernail that was torn and bleeding.

Stifling a groan he pressed the bloody fingernail back into place, squeezing it tightly until the pain turned to numbness - that was the only first aid he could render. From then on he made a point of not looking at it again, the sight of the bloody and blackened nail bed making him want to be sick.

Harry's whole body was aching, and every little while he felt his muscles seize up unexpectedly, clenching as if still under the Cruciatus curse. The only small reprieve was that he had found his glasses now that he had light again. They were undamaged and sparkling clean, the dirt repelling charm Hermione had taught him a while ago coming in particularly handy right now. With relief he put his glasses back on his face, and having them brought a much needed sense of reassurance.

Though he had no means by which to track the passing of time, Harry felt it wasn't much more than an hour before his scar burned again to warn him of Voldemort's return. Yet unlike before when he had felt scared and afraid, this time around he at least felt more prepared. He was still afraid, there would be no use in denying that. But this time at least, he knew what to expect.

Defy him, and suffer for it. Obey him, and everything would be okay.

Knowing what to expect made it a little more bearable, and by the time the door opened Harry had vanished the ball of light, plunging himself into a temporary darkness. When Voldemort entered and lit his wand Harry got to his feet, conscious that he wasn't shaking nearly as much as he had been earlier. Voldemort would probably make him kneel or bow down, but he was determined to at least start out on his feet, just as his parents would have done.

But despite his self-reassurance that all he had to do was obey, part of Harry wondered if this was going to be the time when Voldemort killed him, whether intentionally or not. He must want something from him, why else would he be here…but he didn't dare to hope he wouldn't be tortured again. This time, Harry wasn't sure he could take it, wasn't sure he could possibly survive. What if this time was it? Or what if Voldemort's use for him was satisfied faster than he expected?

When Voldemort and three hooded Death Eaters entered the cellar Harry focused himself on breathing, keeping it as steady as possible when faced them. Voldemort's form was no less frightening than earlier, but he was better prepared for it now. Just like earlier Voldemort seemed to regard him in great interest, curious as to how their interaction with one another would play out this time.

It felt like he was being studied, and already conscious of every move and expression he was making, Harry tried even harder to maintain a calm façade. Still, he began to falter as Voldemort drew nearer, the pain in his scar giving him away. The room grew distinctly colder again, the Dementor drawing closer now that Voldemort was here.

For a long moment Voldemort simply regarded him, the occupants of the cellar silent and still, the Death Eaters lingering a little further back to observe. Under a microscope Harry tried to look Voldemort in the eye, but it was too unnerving. He never blinked, his curious expression never changed, and the red colour of his eyes was just so unnatural, so…malevolent.

'Are you frightened, Harry?'

Almost immediately he wanted to take a step back, a physical admission that yes, he was frightened. But Harry remained exactly as he was, merely glancing up before looking down subserviently.

'Of course you are. You're a child, and children fear many things,' Voldemort murmured. There was no condescension in his voice, no hint of mockery. 'Fear is not a flaw. For a time I feared you. But now I see there is little to fear of you.'

Not knowing what to say to that Harry remained silent, focusing instead on breathing in, and then out again. This was what Voldemort wanted him here for. To question him. But about what? He didn't know anything worth sharing, nothing that would interest Voldemort at least.

'Will you obey me, Harry?'

Harry nodded, verbalising his agreement when the nod seemed insufficient. 'Yes.'

'Then kneel.'

Though he felt a flicker of hesitation, Harry slowly lowered himself onto his knees. He despised himself for complying without a fight, but he was doing what he needed to in order to survive. Anyone could understand the need to survive no matter the cost or humiliation.

Voldemort made an unseen gesture, and from behind him a Death Eater came forward. Looking up he watched as they produced a silver goblet from the pocket of their robes, and then with a tap of their wand it filled with water. With one last step forward they placed it on the floor where Harry knelt and then retreated, leaving it there for him.

'Drink,' Voldemort invited.

Simply staring at the silver goblet Harry began to hold his breath, horribly aware of how thirsty he was. The dryness of his mouth and throat increased tenfold, as did the headache that persisted in the back of his head, one that would surely be relieved by a sip of water. He had almost reached out for it before his thoughts stopped himself, remembering vividly the words Professor Moody had drilled into them every class. Constant Vigilance.

What would Professor Moody say if Harry willingly drank water provided by an enemy? A retired Auror who drank only from his personal hip-flask would not approve, would lecture him on all the poisons or truth potions that could be concealed in water. Despite this he was uncomfortably thirsty. His body craved water…and Voldemort knew it.

'You promised to obey me, Harry.'

'I didn't promise.'

When he spoke his voice sounded rough, his throat sore…a small sip of water couldn't hurt, right?

'Did I not sufficiently convince you earlier? Do you perhaps need a reminder of your position?'

The threat being made was clear. What he did to Harry earlier would be repeated…the Dementor would come closer. But Harry's further hesitation pushed at Voldemort's patience a little too much. Without hesitation he pointed his wand at Harry and murmured Crucio, and though the pain started out bearable Harry's resolve broke immediately.

'Okay!' he said loudly, gasping around the words. 'Don't!'

The pain intensified, making him slump forward onto his hands as he tried to endure it. Strangled cries escaped his lips, and he desperately sought to satisfy Voldemort, to make the pain stop.

'I'll obey!' he shouted hoarsely, panicked at the thought that Voldemort would take him all the way to insanity before stopping. "I'll obey you – stop! Please, stop!'

He gave one last cry, but this one was of relief. The pain ceased, Voldemort letting up now that he was satisfied with Harry's submission. Kneeling forward with both hands on the floor again Harry shuddered for breath, horribly aware of the way his body trembled. He had a fleeting thought that the pain wasn't even that bad, which only lowered his spirits further. It made him feel weaker than ever, pitiful.

'Apologise.'

'I'm sorry,' he panted.

The hoarse apology seemed to be enough, but to his ever increasing horror Voldemort knelt down before him now, the motion making him recoil away, sitting up on his knees again. Harry settled as he watched Voldemort pick up the goblet of water and hold it out for him, staring him in the eye and forcing him to hold his gaze.

'What's in it?' If he had to drink it, he wanted to know what he was drinking.

'Water. Were I to poison you or spike it with Veritaserum, I would take pleasure in telling you before making you drink.'

This was of little reassurance, but knowing he had no other choice he slowly reached out for the goblet. His hand was trembling, exceptionally careful not to risk Voldemort's hand brushing against his as they made the exchange. Taking the goblet Harry looked at it in trepidation, still not trusting that it was safe to drink.

'You've proven yourself adept at resisting the Imperius curse. Veritaserum can be highly compelling depending on the expertise of the brewer…but nothing you told me under the influence of such a potion could be relied upon.'

Harry was barely listening, but rather attempting to stall for as long as he could. One part of him was screaming out to take a drink, to quench the thirst that had only now become an unbearable suffering. Another part of him warned of danger, of a trick…

'You will obey me.'

The implication of this reminder was exceptionally clear. Voldemort had said it again and again. You don't need to suffer. The choice is yours. Harry nodded.

'Drink.'

To his relief Voldemort drew away now, giving him some space again. Not allowing himself a single more moment of delay Harry forced himself to bring the goblet to his lips and drink. The water was cool and flavourless, yet he was certain he'd never tasted anything as beautiful in his life.

It brought him a visceral sense of relief when it wet his lips and mouth, and there was no stopping himself when he swallowed a mouthful. He wanted to drink it all, but his pride would not allow it, and so he lowered the goblet and set it back on the floor, trying not to think about how badly he needed another sip.

A strange sensation swept across his left leg, a bracing warmth that made him look around. He couldn't see past the blood and his tattered school trousers, but he reached out with his filthy hand and felt that the wound from the Acromantula was healed. The skin that remained was mottled by what might be a scar, but it was healed nonetheless. He looked up at Voldemort, not needing to ask to know that it had been him.

'Your defiance will be punished, and your obedience rewarded,' he repeated slowly, holding Harry's questioning gaze. 'It is your choice to make. Do you understand?'

Clear on the terms, no matter how much he detested them, Harry nodded. 'Yes.'

Voldemort seemed satisfied. 'We've much to talk about, Harry. As you obey me, I will reward you. Today you will find yourself accommodated in conditions fitting for a guest of such high honour like yourself.'

'Where ar-'

'Drink.'

Obeying, Harry picked up the goblet and took another mouthful, trying to hide how good it felt. Swallowing again he set the goblet down again and raised his eyes back to Voldemort who stood over him.

'Where are you taking me?'

'You will remain here.'

The answer wasn't helpful. 'Where is here?' he asked, even though he knew the answer.

'The manor of Lucius Malfoy. Drink.'

In spite of how quickly he had broken down and surrendered already, Harry felt his frustration and defiance rising again. It took everything to squash it back down, to not let his mind dwell on desire to openly defy Voldemort. Drinking for a third time he set the goblet down on the flagstone floor.

'Good,' Voldemort said softly, praising Harry's obedience. 'It is time for you to start demonstrating your worth to me. Time to start earning the comforts that will be provided. I've heard of the unique place you hold in Albus Dumbledore's heart.'

Harry looked up at the mention of Dumbledore, his eyes widening in anticipation. 'Have you talked to him?'

Peering at him, Voldemort titled his head a little, and this time the smirk that crossed his face was truly one of condescension. 'You think I'm negotiating for you?'

'Why else am I here?' he asked, trying to understand Voldemort's intentions. 'Y-you want something from Dumbledore.'

'What would he give, do you think?' Voldemort pondered, staring at Harry. 'What would the great Albus Dumbledore give, for the Boy Who Lived?'

Harry didn't answer, not knowing what to say. Voldemort stared at him intently, clearly expecting Harry to give him an answer. Feeling spent he slumped down a little, half kneeling and half sitting. 'I don't know.'

Voldemort continued. 'Albus Dumbledore would never negotiate with me. Not even for you. No Harry, what I want is something only you can give me.'

There was a pause as Voldemort allowed this to sink in, and then he continued, beginning to pace just as he had the previous night in the graveyard.

'You're special to him, Harry. Why else would he watch over you so closely? Assign the Ministry's best Auror to be your teacher, your protector. You're special to me too, that our wands did battle together proves it. Have you never questioned the relationship Dumbledore has with you?'

Bewildered, Harry tried to comprehend that question. 'He's my Headmaster.'

'But you're much more than that to him,' Voldemort implored. 'How could you not be, Harry? The Boy Who Lived would not go unfavored by Albus Dumbledore.'

Harry remained quiet, conscious of every breath he took, every sound. Voldemort was watching him carefully, studying his every response. 'He doesn't favour me,' he claimed. 'Sometimes he looks the other way when I bend a rule or two, but that's all.'

'I don't believe that's the extent of your relationship.'

Stammering, Harry tried to understand, to figure out what Voldemort wanted. 'He feels sorry for me, maybe.'

'Because you have no parents?'

'Because I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire.'

'And how has he helped you? How has he prepared you for this very moment?'

'He hasn't. Professor Moody helped me a little,' he rushed to explain. 'Teachers let me use their classrooms, but Dumbl-'

'Not for the Tournament. How has Dumbledore prepared you to face me?'

Harry stared open mouthed, still not understanding. 'He hasn't.'

'I don't believe you.'

Voldemort's demeanour changed abruptly, his utterance of disbelief harsh. The sudden change alarmed Harry, making him second guess himself. While in some moments Voldemort seemed smooth and charismatic, almost even pleasant, there were moments like now when his anger and impatience would spit out from him like venom. He could never quite tell which way his captor was going to turn moment to moment.

'You've learned from him,' Voldemort said jarringly. The patience shown earlier was disappearing, and back was the cold, malevolent wizard tormenting him. 'You must have by now learned a great deal. I want you to share this with me, Harry.'

'He's not my teacher!'

The Cruciatus curse struck him yet again, and now Voldemort wasted no time to slowly increase the pain. Collapsing onto his side Harry howled in agony, writhing about – and then it was over. As if a bucket of water had been thrown on him he came around, finding himself panting for breath while Voldemort stood above him, wand drawn. Every instinct told him to flee, or at the very least hide himself somehow, but when Voldemort told him to sit up he did so.

As he sat up Harry pulled himself as tight against the pillar wall as he could, shrinking away as Voldemort crouched down in front of him. He was terrified, conscious that he didn't know what Voldemort wanted, he didn't have the answers. And if there was nothing he could do to satisfy him. He would be tortured again - he would be killed.

'Look me in the eye,' Voldemort began, his voice scarily soft. 'Do not look away. Look at me.'

Trembling, Harry did as he was asked. Those red eyes seemed so cold and empty, so in-human. Voldemort held his gaze, looking at him so intently Harry couldn't have looked away if he tried.

'Tell me what you have learned from Albus Dumbledore.'

Despair welled up inside of him, and for one weak moment he clenched his eyes shut, wishing he could open them again and find himself anywhere else than here. But just as quickly he opened them again and returned Voldemort's stare, not allowing himself to look away.

'He's not a teacher,' he repeated again, pleading with Voldemort to believe him. 'He doesn't teach any subjects.'

'What did you learn from Dumbledore about me?'

Harry gaped at him, his mind racing, desperate to come up with the right answer. What had he learned about Voldemort?

Voldemort continued to stare at him, and Harry couldn't break eye contact. Those red eyes seemed to be looking deep inside him, keeping his attention sharply on him.

'He…' Harry began feebly, trying to muster up a train of thought. 'He told me you would try to come back.' He paused for a moment, still holding Voldemort's gaze. 'After you tried to take the Philosopher's Stone, he told me you'd try again.'

Finally, Voldemort seemed satisfied with his answer, yet his questions came now with greater urgency. 'What else did he teach you?'

'Th-that you opened the Chamber of Secrets when you were at Hogwarts.'

'What else about the Chamber? What did he tell you about my diary?'

This time Voldemort extended his hand towards Harry, threatening to touch him. Harry's scar burned even more painfully now. A cold sweat had broken out across his body, his chest tightening as the pain in his scar persisted.

'What did he tell you about my diary?'

'That you used it to possess Ginny Weasley. Your memory did.'

'Memory?'

'He said you put a memory of yourself in the diary - from when you were sixteen. It's how you opened the Chamber again.'

'What artefacts of mine has he shown you?'

Harry blinked, taken aback. 'What?'

As quickly as he had just then, Voldemort changed the subject a second time. 'Tell me what you know of the prophecy.'

Bile began to rise in Harry's throat, and certain he was going to be sick from the pain in his scar he tore his eyes away from Voldemort's, the loss of eye contact offering a reprieve. With a great heaving breath he lowered his head a little, one hand holding his forehead as if that alone would stop his entire head from splitting open. But Voldemort, either not caring or not realising, was too impatient.

Snatching Harry by the wrist he wrenched his hand away from his forehead, the other seizing him by his face and forcing him to turn back, to look him in the eye. But it had the opposite effect, making Harry cry out in pain at Voldemort's mere touch. It felt like Voldemort was burning him, the excruciating pain making his heart accelerate even further as he tried to defend himself. He scrambled desperately to push Voldemort off him, but he was far outmatched.

'Tell me what you know of the prophecy,' Voldemort snarled at him, his expression twisted up in cruel malice. 'What has Dumbledore told you?'

'I don't know!' Harry pleaded, thrashing up against him, trying desperately to push him away.

'The prophecy,' Voldemort snarled again, almost face to face with Harry now. 'Look at me. Tell me about the prophecy.'

Voldemort wasn't holding him tightly by any means, but it was there mere touch that caused the agony. Harry continued to squirm and thrash, clawing at Voldemort's skeletally thin forearms and hands. He was screaming through gritted teeth, and in sheer desperation he managed to push Voldemort away, sending him tumbling backwards.

Like it always did now, relief came instantaneously, but safety did not. Gasping for breath again Harry scrambled as far away as he could, backing himself against another pillar as Voldemort regained his footing again. Straightening up his long robes billowed ominously, and he looked down at Harry in a strangely curious manner.

Panicked, Harry too somehow found his feet and pushed himself upright, still cowering as far away as he could possibly get.

'I don't know what you're talking about!' he cried hoarsely. He looked Voldemort in the eye, pleading with him to understand. 'I've never heard of a prophecy. They're all rubbish anyway. None of that stuff is real!'

The silent pause that followed was almost unbearable, Harry standing there waiting for the consequences of his defiance. Would Voldemort believe him?

'I believe you, Harry,' Voldemort finally replied, still staring at him in great curiosity. 'You're telling me the truth.'

Physically sagging, Harry nodded in relief. With a terrible shudder he let his head drop forward a little, his hands tentatively reaching up to touch his face where he still felt his skin burning. But his relief was short lived, however, a low whimper sounding in his throat when Voldemort spoke next.

'Remind him of his obedience, won't you Lucius?'

Holding his stare a few moments longer Voldemort considered him, and then without another word he departed. Harry stared after him, astonished that he was leaving so abruptly…that he was leaving Harry with them. The heavy door opened and closed as Voldemort and one other Death Eater departed, but as he listened Harry noted that the door hadn't been locked. For one fleeting moment he imagined himself shoving past the Death Eaters, making a miraculous and spectacular escape.

The two remaining Death Eaters came forward now, removing their hoods to reveal Lucius Malfoy and one other he did not recognise. Harry just stood there in trepidation, holding his breath as he waited. He stood perfectly still as if that would protect him, terrified of doing the wrong thing - he didn't want to be tortured again, he couldn't bear it.

With Voldemort he didn't know what to anticipate, his mood and demeanour taking wild swings one moment to the next, he already felt like he knew what to expect from Lucius Malfoy. The disdain those like Mr Weasley had for this wizard had already told him as much as he needed to know, even without him being a Death Eater, one who had immediately returned to Voldemort's side the moment he called.

From the little firsthand experience Harry had, Lucius Malfoy had always been cold and calculating…and cruel. He had been the one to plant Riddle's diary in Ginny's cauldron, who blackmailed the school governors to fire Dumbledore and mistreated his House Elf.

A number of incendiary insults and remarks came to Harry's mind, who would have loved to goad Malfoy for being upstaged by someone as pathetic as Peter Pettigrew in resurrecting Voldemort. But he couldn't find his voice to say these things, he couldn't summon the bravery when Malfoy had so much power over him.

'You've been afforded a great amount of patience and kindness,' Malfoy began coolly, his head tipped back so that he sneered down at Harry. In his hand he carried that snake-like cane he always had in his possession, one that housed his wand. 'Were others to display your level of defiance, they would be dead by now. Or worse. Be assured, I possess little of these qualities.'

Harry said nothing in response, for he didn't need to imagine what worse would be. He cast his eyes over to the other Death Eater, trying to recognise who they were. Last night he had heard Voldemort addressing some by name, but since then he'd seen only a handful of them without their masks, this man among them.

'I do not relish the use of torture, Mr Potter,' Malfoy continued. Moving closer Malfoy lifted up his cane, and with a swift flourish he withdrew his wand to turn it on Harry. 'But you must learn your place.'

'Your House Elf would disagree,' Harry said abruptly. He had spoken before he could think better of it, remembering the disgust he felt upon seeing the way he had abused Dobby.

Malfoy's upper lip curled, his expression souring even more when he remembered that Harry had freed Dobby. 'The Dark Lord may have shown you leniency. He's not unreasonable, after all. But you will need to learn true obedience if you wish to find favour with him.'

Coming even closer Malfoy was forcing Harry back, finding himself pressed against the pillar yet again. Hating the feeling of being cornered Harry tried to straighten up, to not look so small and weak. But there was no use. Malfoy held all the power, and there was nothing he could do.

'The Dark Lord had put you at ease with promise of the comforts you may find in my home, but don't be misled. He would have you kept comfortable, cared for you until such a time that your presence may prove useful to him. I am less kind than he.'

Despite the gravity of his threats, Harry couldn't help but think Malfoy wasn't looking his best. He was grey and pallor in complexion, and there were heavy shadows beneath his eyes. Wondering if perhaps Malfoy wasn't truly rejoicing at his master's return out of the blue, Harry forced himself to withhold comment. Malfoy's wand was pointed directly at him, the Cruciatus curse lingering on the tip of his tongue, ready.

'I am tasked with ensuring you are completely and utterly…broken," Malfoy said softly, lingering on the latter word. 'No defiance. No hope. No, you. If you wish to live, that is the only way.'

A cold shudder swept through Harry now, and it was impossible to hide that he was afraid, it would be useless to even try. His mind was racing for a solution, for the right combination of words that would convince Malfoy to leave him alone, to stop before he started. Suddenly he thought of Draco Malfoy who was safely back at Hogwarts, and he wondered if he had any comprehension of his father's true depravity.

'You don't have to,' Harry said quietly, his voice shaking. 'I know what he wants. I'll do it.'

'Yes, you know what he wants,' Malfoy agreed, nodding. 'But you don't know what I want. My expectations for obedience are far greater. Kneel, Potter.'

Harry answered abruptly, and without thinking. 'No.'

He was too terrified to comply. What was Malfoy going to do to him if he knelt? His mind was still racing, desperate to find a solution, another way – anything but the torture again.

'You don't have to do this,' Harry whispered, glancing at the other Death Eater as if he might help. 'Please. You don't have to.'

Harry's words lingered there between them, a plea for mercy that humiliated him, made him feel smaller and weaker than ever before. The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be repeated no matter how many times it took. He couldn't go through the Cruciatus again, he just couldn't – he just needed to make Malfoy understand.

Malfoy stared at him, expressionless. And then – 'Crucio!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things won't be too grim for much longer, and will pick up in Chapter 5, Malfoy's Mistake.


	5. Malfoy's Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy's Mistake

Laying on the flagstone floor Harry was taking small, shallow breaths of air, the best he could manage without moving too much. He felt paralysed, unable to move for terror, because while Malfoy had stopped for now, he was not finished. The two Death Eaters were watching him, staring as he lay there in misery. And he was waiting…just waiting for the next curse, because he knew it was coming. This part was awful, because all he could do was think about the pain he knew was coming, but was powerless to stop it.

It hurt to breathe…it hurt to exist.

Just like before, Harry's strength of mind had broken the moment the first curse struck him. It hadn't taken any time at all for him to start pleading again, to beg Malfoy to stop.

Three times now…three times the Cruciatus curse had been used on him. The other Death Eater had joined in too, his name was Carrow, and unlike Malfoy's claim that he didn't relish the act Carrow clearly wasn't adverse to it.

Like Voldemort, Malfoy and Carrow would start off mildly and let it build, Carrow laughing as Harry pleaded for them to stop. It was a harrowing experience, for he never quite knew how much worse it would get. Just when he thought he had reached the peak of agony it got worse again, and they relished in dragging it out.

In between they would pause for a time, letting him recover. Perhaps it was less effective if they just kept going - perhaps letting him recover in between made it all the more worse when they tortured him again.

And there was nothing Harry could do. Again and again he had begged them to stop, promised to do what Voldemort asked. He promised to obey, promised he would never defy any of them again. But when would they be satisfied? When would they consider him broken enough to stop?

Though the movement made his head ache, Harry turned and looked towards the door, desperate for someone to come. Wasn't someone going to help him? Wasn't there someone coming? He thought of his parents, of Sirius…if there was ever a time to help him, now would be it. But Harry's heart simply welled up in despair, for he knew they were not coming.

Not for the first time he wished he would simply die…that Malfoy would go too far and he would just die. It would be over, finally.

Hearing footsteps nearby Harry turned his head in the opposite direction, closing his eyes. The light from the tip of Malfoy's wand penetrated his eyelids, forcing him to mentally acknowledge Malfoy's physical proximity. Harry couldn't help but flinch, knowing what was coming next.

'Get up.'

There was no stifling the groan that crept up in the back of his throat. It hurt just to move…he couldn't possibly get up. He whispered please, so softly they couldn't hear him, and then he knew there was no choice about it. Having promised over and over to obey, Harry forced himself to get up. His body and mind felt weak, every part of him fragile and aching…but he obeyed.

With slow and hesitant movements he gingerly managed to stagger to his feet, clutching the stone pillar to steady his balance. His legs and back ached under the strain of holding himself up, his body covered in a cold sweat, disguising the tears of agony that wet his eyes. Harry straightened up and stood as best he could, but he didn't dare look at Malfoy, and instead he averted his eyes.

He glanced up at Carrow, his other torturer having wandered off towards the door, having apparently lost interest now his fun was over. Malfoy on the other hand was watching him closely, and Harry was just glad that he didn't seem impatient with him. Instead Malfoy was staring, holding onto the silence a few moments longer, a silence which only served to worsen Harry's dread for what was coming next. Surely he were done with him now, he had to be satisfied by now…

'You are not yet broken, Harry Potter.'

With a groan that might have disguised a whimper, Harry lowered his head. Still breathing shallow he pressed his fingertips to his brow, trying to collect his thoughts. He wanted to tell Malfoy that he was broken, that he couldn't take any more because he would die. Yet he could barely string the words together in his head. He couldn't summon his breath to speak. But silence stretched on, and finally he managed it.

'I can't take any more,' he managed to say, still holding his brow. He lurched on his feet, struggling to maintain his balance. 'I'll do whatever you want. Please.'

'It takes more than a wizard's own suffering to break him.'

'No. I can't...'

There was a soft clatter nearby, and then Malfoy wrenched his hands away from his face and pressed something into them. Opening his eyes again Harry tried to focus, straightening his glasses. In his hands he found the silver goblet, the one Voldemort had made him drink from. Harry stared at it in confusion, finally looking up at Malfoy for clarification.

'Do you recognise it?'

Looking back he studied the intricate engravings, wondering for a moment if it was the Hogwarts crest. But it wasn't one he recognised. A sword in the centre, two dogs either side. His mind could barely comprehend it. He was lucky he could physically stand, let alone figure out what this meant.

'Toujours pur,' Malfoy said lightly, reading the inscription in the crest's banner. 'It means always pure. The Black family motto.'

Again, it took Harry a few moments to understand, but before he could make the connection in his mind a dreadful feeling came over him. It was like half of his mind figured it out while the other lagged behind. This was about Sirius.

He stood there with the goblet, waiting for Malfoy to explain. His mind was racing, part of him still catching up while the other accelerated, but not with fear. Outrage pulsed within him, the kind that made him grip the goblet until his knuckles turned white.

Malfoy was muttering under his breath, noting Harry's reaction. 'Got it now, have you?'

Taking a slow breath, he opted to be careful with his words. 'What have you done to him?'

'Nothing. Yet.'

Harry nodded, understanding. 'Okay. I get it.'

'I hope so,' Malfoy sneered. 'Because from now on, the consequences of your disobedience will not be suffered by you, but by Sirius Black. He's your godfather, is he not?'

There was a pause now, Harry realising Malfoy was waiting for an answer. 'Yes.'

With a heavy breath Harry flexed his jaw, physically holding himself back from saying anything else. If he didn't keep himself together he was going to say something smart, he was going to start saying things he didn't have the means the follow through on.

'You love him very much.'

'Yes,' Harry answered tersely.

'I started a personal garden in the First War,' Malfoy said conversationally. 'One I keep disguised from the Ministry. Putting Sirius Black's head there on a pike will be my tribute to you after I've killed him. I'll permit you to visit it there. Perhaps a Weasley head or two will brighten it up.'

Harry glanced up at Malfoy, the implications clear. It wasn't just him that was in danger, it was the people he cared about. Ron and Hermione, the Weasleys, Sirius - they were all in danger, and Harry had no doubt that Malfoy wouldn't hesitate to hurt them. But instead of arousing fear, all Harry could feel was frustration and anger.

He had surrendered himself to Malfoy, absolutely and without question. He had begged him to stop torturing him, pleaded with him to hear that he would obey…and still, he wasn't done. And now that Harry was tortured and humiliated, his spirit crushed, Malfoy kept pushing...

Now he was threatening Sirius, the man who in his parent's absence should have been Harry's father. It was at this thought that he felt himself beginning to shake, his jaw aching from how tightly he clenched his teeth together.

'What do you expect me to do?'

Malfoy stared at him, quite clearly vexed by this comment. 'Do?' he questioned.

Abruptly Harry tossed the silver goblet aside, watching as it loudly clattered over the flagstone floor, and then he turned back to Malfoy. 'What do you expect me to do?' he asked loudly, losing his composure. 'I've already promised to obey, but you won't stop! So what is it?'

Staring him down, Malfoy lifted his chin in haughty derision. 'I want you to surrender.'

'I have!'

'I want you to understand.'

'I do!' Harry pleaded, his voice growing hoarse. He had surrendered himself to Malfoy, absolutely and without question. He had begged him to stop torturing him, pleaded with him to hear that he would obey…and still, he wasn't done. When would enough be enough?

'It takes more than this, Potter,' he began, coming forward and kicking aside the silver goblet. 'It takes more than your pleading for you to be broken. You will slip up. You will disobey and resist. And when you do, those consequences will be what finally breaks you.'

Harry shook his head, the utterance of No underneath his breath mainly a word of reassurance to himself that he wouldn't slip up, that he could do this. Malfoy came closer again while Carrow still lingered near the door, his interest beginning to pique again now that something was going on.

'I know where Sirius Black is hiding,' Malfoy taunted cruelly. 'And blood traitors do make the greatest sport for a little torture. When you slip, I'll go to that cave near Hogsmeade and I'll bring him here. For you.'

'No,' Harry shouted, losing his temper again. 'You won't! Y-'

A bright flash startled Harry into silence, his next angry shout dying on the tip of his tongue. Inexplicably Malfoy staggered back a few steps, clutching his stomach as though he had sustained a blow. He looked up at Harry in wide-eyed outrage, but Harry just looked back at him blankly, confused by his behaviour. He glanced at Carrow, trying to understand.

Regaining his footing Malfoy promptly drew his wand again and pointed it at Harry, whose breath caught in his throat. He shouted no!, pleading, but it made no difference. Malfoy's lips were curling, the Cruciatus curse ready in his mouth, and taking fright Harry threw his arms up.

As he shrank back he knew it was no use, that he couldn't deflect an Unforgivable curse with his arms - but what happened was inexplicable. Malfoy stumbled backwards a second time, but harder now, colliding with the stone pillar behind him with a sickening thud. It seemed to happen in slow motion, Harry watching the scene unfold through the arms he held over his face.

There was only one thing he could easily make sense of, and it was the sight of Malfoy's wand slipping through his lacklustre fingers and soaring into the air. The wand tip was still illuminated, filling the dark cellar with flickering flashes of light as it turned end over end in the air, and before he could stop himself Harry was reaching.

It wasn't a conscious decision, he might have stopped himself were he really aware of what he was doing, but he was lunging for the wand. As natural as catching the golden snitch Harry snatched Lucius Malfoy's wand clean from the air. He felt a sudden jolt when his legs gave out beneath him, sending him down onto his knees, but he didn't even care.

In the split second that followed he looked at the captured wand, finding that it was long and perfectly smooth, the intimidating serpent's head affixed to the end with glittering emerald for eyes. He had Lucius Malfoy's wand…he had disarmed a Death Eater.

There was no time to feel exhilarated or even confused, for the brief pause had allowed all three of them to take stock of the situation. While Malfoy groaned and tried to pick himself up Carrow had started forward, his inattention leaving him confused as to what had happened, and it gave Harry a split second in which to act first.

'Expelliarmus!'

There wasn't time to think, he was led only by instinct and adrenaline, these two factors determining everything. Carrow's wand was jerked from the pocket of his robes before he could even think to draw it, his enraged shout echoing so loudly around the cellar Harry's ears hurt.

Carrow's wand flew into Harry's other free hand, and he was scrambling back to his feet in a panic, not knowing what to do, his mind in a whirl. On the floor Malfoy was groaning, his eyes fluttering as he tried to stay conscious. Bright red blood bloomed through his blonde hair, but Carrow stepped straight over him as he advanced on Harry, prepared to face him unarmed.

'Stupefy!'

The cellar lit up red from the flash of light, Carrow swiftly dodging the spell as he continued to advance on Harry. But though the first spell missed the second did not, Harry's wild brandishing of the wand catching Carrow unexpectedly. With the second flash of red light Carrow fell forward spectacularly, hitting his head on the flagstone floor with an audible smack.

As quickly as it began it was over, the cellar becoming perfectly silent and still. In sheer disbelief Harry stood there and looked at the two Death Eaters on the floor, Carrow out cold while Malfoy struggled to stay conscious, one hand clutching at the wound on his scalp. He had done this…he had attacked them. The thought alone was impossible to comprehend, and it left both his mind and body paralysed.

While he caught his breath the possibility of escape occurred to him. But it was a fleeting thought - he wasn't going anywhere. Already footsteps were thundering down the stairs, the others must have overheard the commotion, and then the cellar door opened with a loud crash.

High with adrenaline Harry braced himself, ready to fight his way out of this, armed with two stolen wands and his determination to live. He was beyond reason and logic, driven by the instinct to fight for his life. But his determination to fight was naive, and a split second later he came to his senses. This was not a fight he could win, not against the half dozen or so Death Eaters that poured into the cellar.

Coming to his senses Harry surrendered. Releasing Malfoy and Carrow's wands he lowered himself to his knees, putting his hands in the air to show he wasn't going to fight, but it made little difference. A heavy blow across the side of his head sent him to the floor, and then two cloaked figures were on top of him, pinning him down and bearing their full weight on top of him.

Harry tried not to fight them, his brain telling him he needed to surrender, to cooperate and plead for forgiveness. He stayed perfectly still, even as the chaos sent his mind into a tail spin he refused to let himself fight against them - surrender was a must. When there was a blow to the small of his back he cried out in shock, but the second one that came to his stomach silenced him, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Still he did not fight them.

'Get off him.'

Responding immediately the Death Eaters moved off him, Harry drawing a great breath of air the moment their weight vanished. Grateful for the relief he didn't protest when someone else seized him by his hair and dragged him to his feet. He cooperated fully, letting whoever it was bind his hands before following as they wrenched him through the door.

Behind him he could hear Malfoy shouting in a frenzy, not mortally wounded but highly aggrieved. Keen to get as far away from him as possible Harry kept his head down and climbed the stairs with the other Death Eater. He felt dazed, his head spinning as he walked…

On the stairs he lost his footing, and unable to catch himself he landed hard on his right knee, the eruption of pain making him cry out. But there was no reprieve, for the Death Eater simply yanked him back up, tugging on his hands behind his back, and now it was his arms that hurt too.

When they emerged into the manor upstairs he knew it was wise to have given up the fight, being met by more Death Eaters awaiting him. Reason trumped instinct…it had been wise to surrender.

The Death Eaters upstairs cheered when Harry was brought up, excited by the commotion. Two of them were throwing their sleeves back and drawing their wands, expecting to take their turn at Voldemort's greatest enemy, but they were not permitted the chance.

'…Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –'

Feeling the change in temperature Harry came to a stop, panicked. 'No,' he choked, flailing as the Death Eater tugged at his arm. 'No, please.'

The Dementor was close by - so close he could hear his mother's screams as if she was right there beside him. The laughter and cheers from the Death Eaters only rose the more he panicked, one of them protesting in exasperation when their comrade seized Harry around the middle and hauled him towards a set of grand doors to their right.

'Come on, Sev!' they called out, removing their hood. 'Let us have our turn at 'im!'

Sev? Surely it wasn't…

There was a split second in which the Death Eater carrying him dropped him to the floor, and Harry scrambled to look up. His blood ran cold when he laid his eyes on his teacher, who wasn't even trying to disguise himself behind the hooded robes and mask. The moment he saw him Harry's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, horrified and sickened...it really was Snape.

Snape was pointedly ignoring him, simply striding out of the room as the grand doors slammed shut behind him. Struggling with his hands behind his back and his newly injured knee Harry managed to get back to his feet, mind racing - Dumbledore had vouched for Snape, and he had been wrong. With an angry tug the rope binding his wrists fell away to the floor, freeing his hands.

In a fit of anger Harry threw himself at the locked doors and pounded on them, more infuriated than he ever had been in his life. He was pleased to hear someone give a shout of surprise from the other side, someone else complaining that they didn't get their chance with Potter. Hearing their voices Harry became still, listening intently, waiting to hear the known voice of his Potions teacher.

Now hearing nothing but indistinct shouting Harry pulled away from the doors, breathing heavily as he tried to dispel the pent up energy that was erupting from within him. Moving back and forth he quickly cast his eyes around, taking in the room that should have imposed a great sense of grandeur. The walls were as tall as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, painted deep purple and adorned with dozens of portraits. Opposite the doors stood a marble fireplace as tall as himself, flanked by grand columns and surmounted by a gilded mirror in which the reflection of two crystal chandeliers sparkled.

He could still hear the Death Eaters on the other side, yelling and calling out to one another, shouting their surprise that the Potter boy had attacked. But how? Some sounded fearful, others outraged, and then Malfoy's voice entered the fray. He could hear Snape too, his much more level sounding voice telling someone to calm down.

Emboldened, Harry was again still ready to fight them all, having abandoned his brief return to sanity. He dared them to come in here and provoke him, dared them to lay even a finger on someone he loved. Not even the proximity of the Dementor would dampen his determination. He would fight them, he would win.

The beaming smile that grew on his face felt crazily out of place, especially with a Dementor nearby, but but his heart and mind felt lighter than ever. He began to pace back and forth, staggering as he drew great shuddering breaths of air. He couldn't believe what he had just done…he had beaten them.

In exhilaration he closed his eyes and put his hands on his head, grinning up at the ceiling. He felt absolute euphoria, his heart soaring with the greatest joy he had ever felt. Imprisoned and tortured, he had defended himself without a wand. He had managed to attack two Death Eaters, stunning one of them and knocking the other nearly unconscious.

He had won, making anything possible now. So excited he could barely breathe through the euphoria Harry was lightheaded and carefree. He paced back and forth in the palatial room, proud of himself for fighting back. They should have been merciful when he pleaded for it, they should have stopped, should have known better…

But then, it dawned on him. Harry's euphoria abruptly vanished, like a book that was slammed shut. Slowing his pacing to a stop he stood very still, and though he tried desperately to cling to that feeling the beaming smile on his face began to falter.

What had he done?

For a long moment he just stood there, the gravity crashing down on him. It felt like the walls were actually closing, darkness creeping on his psyche and sucking out the joy he had so briefly felt. Replacing his euphoria was white hot terror.

Swallowing heavily, Harry dropped his head and looked down at himself. The shoulder of his shirt was torn, his bleeding nose dripping blood down his chin and onto his collar. It turned his stomach as he tried to wipe the blood away, tasting it in his mouth and feeling its warmth on his skin. This was him...he had done this.

He had attacked two Death Eaters, ones who just got done threatening to murder Sirius as punishment. Why did he do that? What was he thinking?

It wouldn't be him who paid the price, it would be Sirius who was punished.

There was a silent scream building inside of him, one that needed to come bursting out – it was a scream for Sirius, a plea for him to run, to hide…to forgive him. No one was coming here to help him. He was completely and utterly alone, possessing no possible way of warning Sirius that he was in danger.

Harry gasped for breath, panicking at what he had done to his godfather. Overcome with horror he staggered, desperately attempting to stifle the gasps that were quickly turning into sobs. He forced it all down, stifling the scream inside himself until it physically hurt. His whole body was trembling, his mind racing to find a solution, a way to warn Sirius…

As if they'd heard his terrified thoughts the doors swung open with a loud bang, and Harry turned to face whoever it was. Malfoy was standing in the threshold, and the look in his eyes was murderous. Sneering in contempt he entered the sitting room and raised his wand, and following him in was Carrow, Snape and nearly a dozen more Death Eaters.

Harry hurriedly backed away from them as if it would make any difference, stumbling in his haste. He looked rapidly between each of them and then into the entrance room beyond, already looking for Sirius, terrified that they had already acted against him. But Sirius wasn't there, not yet at least - and with that split second realisation returned his will to fight.

'Don't come any closer!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hope you enjoyed Harry's opportunity to fight back unexpectedly - next chapter will be similar in that Harry gets a moment to fight back against what they're doing to him. Then chapter 7 is a little slower, but hopefully interesting - it's a chapter to took a major rewrite of many other chapters, more info to come.
> 
> Thanks for the reviews I've been receiving. I will reply to all reviewers (who are logged in), so please be sure to leave a review and let me know what you think, I really appreciate it.


	6. In the Drawing Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Drawing Room

As if they'd heard his terrified thoughts the doors swung open with a loud bang, and Harry turned to face whoever it was. Malfoy was standing in the threshold, and the look in his eyes was murderous. Sneering in contempt he entered the sitting room and raised his wand, and following him in was Carrow, Snape and nearly a dozen more Death Eaters.

Harry hurriedly backed away from them as if it would make any difference, stumbling in his haste. He looked rapidly between each of them and then into the entrance room beyond, already looking for Sirius, terrified that they had already acted against him. But Sirius wasn't there, not yet at least - and with that split second realisation returned his will to fight.

'Don't come any closer!'

Malfoy lurched unsteadily and pitched backwards, blinking stupidly as though he had just walked into a glass door. His rage increased tenfold as he began to shout, the expression in his eyes becoming darker still – but Harry couldn't hear a word.

Confused, he watched Malfoy's mouth moving silently. Other Death Eaters came forward now, and equally confused they removed their hoods and masks, encountering an invisible barrier. A small laugh of disbelief escaped Harry's throat as he watched, knowing somehow he had done this, and he mentally thanked Ron and Hermione for helping him learn the shield charm before the Third Task.

Determined to regain control, Malfoy ushered everyone back and then pointed his wand into the middle of the room. His lips moved silently, forming what looked like Confringo, and seeing this Harry rapidly retreated again. The fiery orange curse erupted from Malfoy's wand like an explosion, and when it hit Harry's shield charm it rippled out over the protective barrier like water hitting the bottom of a sink.

Housed behind the charm Harry was safe from them all. But others were raising their wands now, three more blasting curses striking his shield. Frightened, Harry took a shaky step backwards, looking around for something with which to protect himself, but there was only furniture behind which he could hide.

There was a resounding bang, a flicker of light fluttering between them as his shield charm faltered under the collective attack. For a split second Harry could hear the Death Eaters again, and then it was silent once more. He didn't dare laugh this time. This was getting more and more dangerous for him. He couldn't let them get close, he had to do whatever necessary.

In contrast to the others Snape seemed to have better sense about himself. Instead of getting involved he waited in the doorway watching on, lips moving silently as he muttered encouragement to his fellow Death Eaters. Unwilling to get his hands dirty he lingered at the back of the fray, issuing instructions.

Increasingly unhinged with fury, Malfoy looked at Harry and shouted Bombarda! But the spell rebounded from the shield, hitting one of the portraits on the wall. The canvas exploded spectacularly, the occupant fleeing into another portrait nearby.

Harry gave a grateful gasp of relief. He didn't know how he had attacked Malfoy and Carrow down in that cellar, he didn't know how he had cast such a strong shield charm now, but he wasn't going to question it. Right now, this charm was the only thing between being tortured and being safe.

But as quickly as their anger had erupted the Death Eaters were retreating, looking at Harry warily. There was a scuffle, one of them rushing out ahead of the rest. As they retreated Carrow shouted at them, seizing one of them by the shoulder and forcing them to stay. Malfoy was still standing there with his wand pointed at Harry, fingers gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white, his arm trembling in anger.

Snape came forward now, speaking to Malfoy in what seemed like a quiet and hushed tone, and Harry watched them warily. The two Death Eaters began to argue, Malfoy appearing to shout at Snape, who naturally did not rise. Instead he spoke calmly, gesturing to Harry only once, and then he turned to Carrow next. Taking control of the situation he was issuing instructions, and though he looked both disappointed and satisfied at the same time, Carrow seemed to be in agreement.

At Snape's behest Carrow departed, taking the other Death Eaters with him until only Malfoy and Snape remained. Harry could hear only silence, protected and kept in the dark by the shield charm. Trying not to look nervous or intimidated he crossed his arms, not liking the way Snape kept looking at him.

Malfoy's anger did not appear to be dissipating, however he seemed calmer now, heeding whatever it was Snape had instructed. He cast Harry a glare of contempt, no doubt infuriated beyond relief that a teen had attacked him in his own home.

Looking back to Snape, Harry stupidly hoped that maybe he would help him - that maybe there was some slither of loyalty to Dumbledore or pity that would allow him to be merciful. If there was anyone here who might take pity on him, surely it would be Snape?

A few minutes passed without further incident, and Harry just stood there watching Malfoy and Snape, waiting for them to do something. And then he felt the change…chilled air began sweeping through the room, penetrating his shield charm with ease. In seconds the chilled air became a rush of cold, one that seemed to reach his very insides and made him step back in alarm. A shield charm would not protect him from a Dementor.

His breath became a visible fog in front of him, and seeking any reprieve possible he wracked his brain for a happy thought, for something no matter how feeble. But as though he'd never felt joy in his life he came up completely blank…he had nothing with which to defend himself.

The familiar rushing sound filled his ears, and he focused on just trying to hold himself together as despair whirled around inside of him, clouding his thoughts with terror and dread. Inside his head his mother pleaded with Voldemort, the sound of her voice making his heart ache so badly he wanted to cry - but there was nothing he could do for her.

While Malfoy drew away Snape came towards him, wand drawn. As he began to shiver Harry felt his strength fading fast, and he looked at Snape pleadingly while he backed away, pressing himself back against the marble fireplace. But he found only indifference in Snape's dark eyes, and he was rendered completely defenceless when moments later his shield charm failed, disappearing with a final hopeless flicker.

'Turn around, Potter,' Snape said cooly, pointing his wand at him.

For a moment Harry just stood there, unable to believe that this was real, that Snape really was in league with the Death Eaters once again. He pleaded with him pathetically, his voice so strained he probably didn't hear, and it made no difference. Snape looked at him with his cold and calculating stare, showing a deep loathing that normally Harry would have returned. But today it made him want to double over in despair, for it meant there was no hope - Snape was not going to help him.

'Turn around. Now.'

Hopeless, and ready for it to just be over, Harry began to turn around. Whatever was coming for him next he wanted only to close his eyes and wait for it to be over - he was scared about what was coming for him, wracked with remorse over his outbursts, a slip that Malfoy had warned him about…and now the consequences were coming.

'Crucio!'

The agony erupted just as before, engulfing his entire being until he was sure this was it, he was going to die. It was a small mercy that the curse lifted quickly, and Harry found himself on the floor again, gasping for breath as his body trembled. All the while the Dementor lingered somewhere nearby, sapping him of all hope and strength.

Snape was shouting now, and Harry opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of him and Malfoy storming out of the room.

'Go, before the Dark Lord hears of your insolence,' Snape snarled. 'It has not escaped his notice that you've been unfaithful to the cause.'

There was a slight pause before Malfoy responded, his voice low and prideful. 'It is not my faithfulness he questions.'

Footsteps followed this accusation before silence fell again, and as quickly as he could Harry pushed himself back up from the floor. He felt weak and feeble, struggling to even sit up, but when more footsteps announced Snape's return he forced himself to. From the corner of his eye he watched Snape enter the room again, his black robes billowing as he approached.

'Get up,' Snape ordered, wand drawn and pointed at him. 'And turn around.'

Harry couldn't even look at him, the Dementor leaving him completely devoid of the hope that Snape might do something to help him. Instead he looked at the floor as he obeyed, his trembling limbs making him stagger as he got to his feet and turned away.

He gave no protest when he felt his hands pulled behind his back by an invisible force, ropes winding themselves around his wrists and securing them tightly once again. Behind him he could hear the Dementor, and against his better judgement he looked over his shoulder past Snape as another blast of cold air swept through the room. The long rattling breaths made his stomach turn, his head whirling around until he was sure he might faint.

'Bow to death, Harry. It might even be painless.'

Shadows on the wall outside the room were moving, and he caught a glimpse of something that terrified him to his very core - the Dementor appearing in the threshold. It was right there with him, its decaying hand already reaching out in search of him as it grew closer, feeding off of him. It came into full view now, a towering presence that lingered there in the entrance room.

Seizing him by the upper arm Snape roughly pulled Harry around to face it, holding him steady until he gained his footing. It took everything he had to stand upright, it was the sheer will that he must live that helped him manage it. Over the rushing sound in his head he realised Snape was speaking to him.

'You will cooperate, or I will leave you here with it.'

The was a straightforward threat delivered without malice - Snape giving him the options as if he would actually allow him to choose. Looking away from the Dementor Harry looked Snape in the eye and nodded, pleading Yes he would cooperate.

Apparently satisfied, Snape stared at him with narrowed eyes and then conjured a black hood that draped itself over Harry's head, one which Harry was grateful for. He didn't want to see anything else. Closing his eyes he followed as best he could when Snape tugged on his arm to make him walk.

Afraid and weakened by the Dementor Harry was slow to move, feeling like he had bricks attached to his feet. It took everything to put one foot in front of the other knowing it was bringing him closer to the Dementor. Only a small slither of reason assured him that he was safe from it, that Snape wouldn't let it perform the kiss. They didn't want him dead yet. Voldemort wasn't done with him.

The sound of the Dementor increased, the had to be passing it by, and the deep pit of hopelessness inside him only grew deeper with despair. Snape was practically dragging him now, but then he felt it beginning to fade, and with every step his strength and sanity began to return.

He stumbled a little when they reached a staircase, having not known to anticipate it, but Snape continued holding him steady. When they reached the next level they strode along a long corridor before turning left and right multiple times until he had lost track, and perhaps that was the point.

Trying not to think about anything he instead focused on putting one foot in front of the other. It didn't matter to him where he was or where he was being taken. There was no Dementor up there, and that was all he cared about.

After striding down an endless number of corridors he was beginning to feel weak with exhaustion. But suddenly they slowed down, Snape turning him so sharply to the right that he had to walk sideways a few paces. Unable to see a thing there was nothing he could do, nothing he could learn about where he was or what Snape was about to do to him. And then, it was all over.

His knees came up against something hard, and with a rough shove in the back he fell forward, heart leaping into his throat. But he landed upon something soft. Hands grabbed at his ankles and hauled them up along with the rest of his body, and then nothing. Laying there in stunned disbelief Harry listened to Snape's footsteps as he walked away, and then a door slammed loudly, startling him.

Blessed silence followed, Harry left lying there completely alone. Too exhausted to do anything else, both physically and mentally, he closed his eyes and blocked it all out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you made it to the end of the chapter! I reply to reviews, so make sure you're logged in if you'd like me to reply.
> 
> Chapter 7 offers bit of a change of pace, and will be posted next weekend.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Guest of Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 - The Guest of Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In original drafts Harry was held in the Riddle House given it was close to the graveyard, and they had only ever threatened to take him to Malfoy Manor. But I was disappointed I never got to write him actually being there, so I spent weeks rewriting these chapters so that he was at Malfoy Manor all along, and I think the story has ended up better by far.
> 
> Really hope you enjoy the chapter, please do leave me a review and let me know what you think, particularly about the change of plot from Riddle House to Malfoy Manor.

It was difficult to tell how long Harry had been laying there. It could have been minutes or hours, and yet he stay perfectly still, only his chest moving with every shuddered breath that slowed as the adrenaline receded and he calmed. Thoughts fluttered in and out of his head, disconnected and confused, and all he could really comprehend was the fact that it was over. The torture, the fight, the Dementor, it was all over…for now at least.

He was content to lay there for as long as he needed to, allowing his thoughts to come into order, stringing memories together until things made sense. Time felt disconnected from reality, but finally there came a point where he felt ready to do something. Without consciously deciding to do so he began to move.

His hands were free from the ropes, that much registered, and he used them to push himself upright. Clumsily pulling the black hood off his face he gave a moan of relief when he felt fresh air on his face. Hungrily he gulped in the fresh air, feeling near euphoric as oxygen flooded his brain and cleared his senses.

For a few minutes Harry just sat there breathing, the fresh air soothing his sweaty face. Still trying to orient himself he fumbled around in the black hood to find his glasses, gratefully putting them back on his face. Yet he didn't look around yet, allowing himself a few more moments before he had to face whatever situation he found himself in next. Summoning the will he began to look around, taking in his surroundings with a sense of detachment, as if he was too overwhelmed to really take in anything else.

Beneath his hands was a lush velvet bed cover, and surrounding him on all sides were the dark curtains of a four poster bed, the sheer green fabric allowing a soft filtered light to trickle through. He studied the four poster bed's ornate canopy and decorative features, the elaborately carved headboard, the gilded M.

Taking it all in he wiped sweat from his brow, feeling sick and feverish. He lingered as he was a few minutes longer, listening for any sounds that might indicate he was not alone. When he was confident of his solitude he tentatively moved to the edge of the bed, his aching knee a reminder of the fall he took on the cellar stairs.

Pulling back the sheer green curtains he looked out, and the bedroom suite that revealed itself was as elaborately decorated as the four poster bed. Moving tentatively he stepped down from the elevated bed onto an antique rug, cautiously bearing weight on his leg. Giving his knee a minute he looked around the bedroom, taking it all in.

He felt entranced, unsure of where to cast his eyes first, for the room was incredibly grand. The four poster bed dominated the room at first, but quickly fell into the background as he turned his attention to the textured wallpaper and ornate artwork adorning the walls. It was a grand and intimidating room, one that made him feel very small in comparison.

Tentative but curious, he took a few steps in order to look around some more, taking it all in. Opposite the bed stood a white marble fire place, surrounded by two high-backed arm chairs and a black leather couch, various cabinets, side tables and a tall wardrobe filling out the rest of the room.

At the foot of the bed was a padded bench, and stacked neatly there were jeans and a plain long sleeved shirt, clothing not unlike that he already owned, but it was brand new. Beneath the bench were a pair of new trainers and socks, in exactly his size. Voldemort hadn't been misleading him. He really was going to be well accommodated at Malfoy Manor.

On a gilded tray next to the clothing was something he should have eagerly leapt at. A steaming bowl of hot soup and a thick slice of bread were ready for him, complete with a spoon, cloth napkin and even crystal salt and pepper shakers. He wasn't hungry, and in fact his stomach sickened at the mere smell of what was probably a delicious soup. Instead he was thirsty, desperately so. He approached the gilded tray only to look for a knife, something with which to defend himself, but there was not even a butter knife and so he turned away and continued looking around.

Making his way over Harry looked around the sitting area, dimly noting the items on the coffee table. Two Quidditch books, a recent copy of Which Broomstick, and a set of crystal gob stones. Clearly they were there for him, for his use and entertainment. On the mantle of the fireplace was a small wireless radio, similar to the one in the Gryffindor Common Room, and this alone aroused temptation.

Approaching it he studied the dials, his hand already reaching up to turn it on. He was desperate for news from the outside world, to learn anything he could about what was happening, but at the last second he stopped himself. He didn't want to touch anything in here…it could be a trick.

Feeling like he was in another dimension Harry started making his way over to the only other item of interest - the door. But as he reached for the handle he stopped himself again, feeling hesitant. The room was noticeably colder over here. So cold in fact that he felt gooseflesh erupting on his arms. With trepidation he touched a finger to the door knob, his heart leaping when he felt it was distinctly cold.

The Dementor was still nearby, kept close should the Death Eaters need it to incapacitate him again. He stepped back from the door, unwilling to face a Dementor. Even if he had a wand he wasn't strong enough to face it. He wracked his brands for a happy thought, a memory he could dwell on to strengthen himself, but everything felt distant and cloudy. Nothing brought him the kind of happiness he needed to fight a Dementor.

Wisely choosing to back away he turned his attention back to the bedroom that seemed to be his. There were two enormous windows either side of another door, and he approached the closest to look outside. But though it allowed sunlight to enter there was nothing for him to see when he looked out, the world beyond blocked from his view. All he could see was the bright glare from the sun.

For a few moments he felt dazed, his head spinning as he tried to recall what day it was. This was maybe the first time he'd seen daylight since before the Third Task…but surely only one night had passed. It was Sunday. He repeated this in his mind again and again, trying to hold on to the sense of certainty it brought him. The minutes and hours felt blurred together, but knowing it was still Sunday helped ease this confusion.

Ignoring the large wardrobe and various side tables he had yet to investigate Harry turned his attention to the other door in the room, the door between the two large windows. Upon finding the handle was not cold from a Dementor he steeled himself and then opened it, eager to find what was on the other side.

It was a bathroom, one as equally grand and ornate as the bedroom to which it was connected. When he stepped inside gas lamps on the walls illuminated the room, light bouncing off glossy green floor to ceiling tiles. A deep stone bathtub was built into an alcove on the wall opposite, flanked by thick twisted pillars of black marble.

A plush towel was draped over a nearby stool, suggesting it was his to use, the multiple bath taps reminding him of the Prefects bathroom at Hogwarts. But despite the enticement Harry paid it no further attention. Instead he rushed over to the stone sink, hurriedly turning on the taps and gulping at the fresh water that came from them.

He gasped in sheer relief, the cool water quenching his desperate thirst. Drinking freely he gulped down the water until he was nearly sick, and when he'd finally had enough he clumsily began to wash his face, ridding himself of dried blood around his mouth and nose, leaving his whole face feeling clean and refreshed.

When he turned off the tap he remained crouched over the sink, elbows resting on the black marble top. He'd caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above, and he was wary of looking again. When he looked he stared at himself for a long time, grateful the mirror didn't make any comments.

Dark shadows below his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, but at least he was cleaned up now. There were strange marks on his neck, bruises reminiscent of a hand, someone holding him down perhaps…Voldemort? Looking away from that he studied the inner corner of his right eye, alarmed by the blood that marred the white of his eye. He studied it in concern, blinking as though he was seeing things, because it didn't feel injured.

He took a moment to himself, closing his eyes and letting himself breathe. It was to his relief to find that he could think straight, but his head swirled when he began to think about what had happened downstairs…in the cellar…in the drawing room.

Still thirsty he drank from the tap again and then washed his face a second time, running cool water over his scar. It burned dully on his head, as if Voldemort was nearby, but not too close. When he raised his head again he looked at it in the mirror, but despite the discomfort he was in it was merely a little reddened.

He didn't consider his injuries any further than that. After a few more moments he tentatively returned to the bedroom, half expecting that someone might have materialised in his absence, but he was still blessedly alone. Investigating he went to the second window and looked out, but it was exactly the same as the first. Dissatisfied with what little he had learned he limped around the room, opening the tall wardrobe. But he immediately slammed the doors shut, alarmed to find it was full of more clothing…clothing for him.

A sense of restless anxiety began to creep in as he paced around the room again, continually glancing at the clothes set out at the foot of the bed, the food, the Quidditch magazines on the coffee table. This was his room…he was here to stay.

He didn't understand why Snape had brought him in here. Voldemort had alluded to this, to some creature comforts he would earn through obedience. But he certainty hadn't done any such thing, particularly not given what happened in the cellar and then the drawing room. Why had Snape brought him here?

At the thought of this he cringed, dreading the retaliation he was sure to get for what he had done. Malfoy had warned him that he would snap, that there would come a time that he chose to resist instead of obey, and that the punishment for that would be inflicted on someone he loved. Malfoy was going to murder Sirius, putting his head on a pike in a secret garden here at the Manor.

Was that where Snape had sent Malfoy? Had he gone to hunt down Sirius?

Trying not to get too worked up he instead focused on his immediate situation. It seemed they were setting him up for a long stay at Malfoy Manor. This was it for him…and no one knew a thing. He wondered what everyone at Hogwarts would think had happened to him and Cedric, trying to imagine what Dumbledore was doing right now.

There was a glimmer of hope inside of him, for this felt like the first time he'd been able to think anything through with a somewhat clear and rational mind. Dumbledore had to be doing something to find him, that much he believed. Dumbledore was no fool, he would know something terrible had happened to him and Cedric. His mind began to wander to Ron and Hermione, and the Weasley's too, hoping they were doing okay.

He began to feel unwell again, remembering that the Dementor was close by. The glimmer of hope he had felt at the thought of Dumbledore had been merely a flicker, not strong enough to combat the Dementor despite its apparent distance.

Instead of laying down on the bed Harry sank into one of the high-backed leather armchairs instead, choosing the one that would allow him to face the door so he could see what was coming. Sitting down he pulled his feet up to his body, slinging one arm around his legs and using the other to prop his head up. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, resting them while he gently rubbed his knee.

When his eyes naturally fluttered open again he glanced at the fireplace, wishing that it was lit. There was just enough chill in the air to make him too cold to relax. He looked longingly towards the bed, thinking the thick linens and plush blankets would surely bring the warmth he needed to sleep. He allowed himself to glance at the clothing at the foot of the bed again, casting his eyes from it towards the bathroom. Clearly he was being invited to these basic comforts. Wasn't that what Voldemort had promised him?

Harry wanted so badly to give in, to sink into a steaming hot bath and get cleaned up. To rid himself of the ripped and dirty school shirt was wore, his skin caked in sweat, dirt and grime…and blood. But he couldn't bring himself to do it - he couldn't make himself at home. Getting comfortable here would mean that he was staying, and though he knew that decision was beyond his control, that didn't mean he had to play along. Voldemort hadn't ordered him to do anything. Voldemort wasn't even there.

Having talked himself out of temptation, Harry allowed himself something else instead. Rising from the leather armchair he approached the wireless radio that sat atop the fireplace mantle. Looking at it for a moment he wondered what might happen if he dared touch it, if he dared touch anything in this room. He was braced for a trick, fearing he had been lulled into a false sense of security. But he struck up his nerve and then reached for the switch, turning it on.

He was greeted by music, a song he would have normally listened to, but it was of no interest to him today. Reaching for the other dial he flicked through the stations, looking for one in particular. On that station too he was met with more music, but accepting this for now he returned to the chair and sat down, bringing his feet up so he could curl into himself again.

The music continued to play, but it would be worth the wait. This is the only station Mr Weasley would permit when he wanted the evening news, declaring most other stations intolerable for decent reporting. And right now what Harry wanted was the news, plain and simple.

He waited impatiently as song after song played, anxious for the break to come up, for any sort of news to be shared. He was about to give up and change the station when the music finally drew to a close, his attention picking up as the station host began to speak over the fading notes.

'You're listening to Wizard Lounge, where we play non-stop hits all day. And the talk of the wizarding community today is of course the mysterious disappearance of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. For more on that we go to our news anchor, Ophelia McBurnie, with another live update from Hogsmeade Village in Scotland.'

Sitting up Harry leaned in towards the radio, listening intently as the news anchor began to speak.

'Today, investigations continue into the disappearance of two Hogwarts school students Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, who vanished last night under suspicious circumstances during their participation in the controversial Tri-Wizard Tournament. Tournament officials maintain that no additional level of the Third Task was prepared, and that when the Champion reached the Tri-Wizard cup the Third Task should have ceased immediately.

'An all night search of the tournament maze confirmed that Potter and Diggory are indeed missing. Late this morning officials completed the removal of all maze hedges and Task obstacles, but are yet to disclose any information as to exactly what happened to the missing Champions.

'Sources say that Ludo Bagman, Head of Department of Magical Games and Sports, is the Ministry of Magic's primary wizard of interest, following his defection of duty after the alarm was raised. While officials are yet to comment, some speculate that Bagman might possibly be aware of or involved in what happened to the Champions, given his noted fondness of the youngest Hogwarts Champion, Harry Potter.

'And today Hogwarts castle remains under strict lockdown while investigations and searches of the school grounds continue. Reports are that many students have been questioned late into the night about their school mates' disappearances. And despite his cooperation with Ministry officials, Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has aroused some suspicion from investigators due to his prolonged absences, with many questioning his absence during preliminary investigations.

'Professor Dumbledore has declined to make a comment, however did take up his post of Supreme Mugwump this morning to address the International Confederation of Wizards. The ICW have countries around the world on high alert in case the school students have reappeared elsewhere, as is known to happen in these controversial Tri-Wizard Tournaments and major league Quidditch games.

'While we are restricted from reaching out to Harry Potter's Muggle relatives, close friends the Weasley family have declined to comment, though were present at Hogwarts castle to watch the Third Task, and remain there. The parents of Cedric Diggory have expressed their great distress, and have pleaded with anyone who possesses information about their son's whereabouts to please come forward.'

Another woman's voice came across the radio now, softer and shaky. Harry lurched up out of the armchair and lunged for the radio dial, hastily turning it off. His heart was pounding rapidly, eyes brimming with tears as emotion welled up inside him. With a great shuddering breath he tried to calm himself down, and he screwed up his face against the unwanted surge of despair.

It was painful to hear about Cedric's mum and dad, and worse to hear them talking, hearing their pain as they worried for their son. They didn't know Cedric was dead…they were still waiting for him to come back, hoping and believing that he was alright.

Unable to stand hearing any more Harry did not turn the radio back on. Instead he returned to the armchair and resumed his place. He stared at the door as he waited for something to happen, mentally trying to digest all of the information he had just learned.

The Ministry was searching for him and Cedric, investigating people like Ludo Bagman and even Dumbledore. For a wild moment he wondered if there was any truth in what had been said about Bagman, for it had been strange the way he kept offering Harry help. Had he been conspiring against him all along, making efforts to get him to the centre of the maze?

Rubbing his forehead he tried to remember what he knew of Bagman's past, vaguely recalling he had some connection to Death Eaters during the war. But the Weasleys…for Harry, it came down to their judgement. Mr Weasley didn't seem to think much of Bagman, but had no qualms about accepting tickets to the Quidditch World Cup from him. Surely Bagman had nothing to do with this.

He now wished he hadn't turned on the radio at all, feeling that it had just left him feeling more confused and worried than before. The information rushed through his mind at great speed - Dumbledore under suspicion, a search of the maze, Ron and Hermione being questioned, the Weasley's still at the castle…it was a lot to take in.

But one thing stuck with him. There was not one mention of Voldemort or Death Eaters, and this hit home with a painful realisation. No one knew about Voldemort's return but him…he was the only one who would raise the alarm.

If Voldemort wanted to keep things quiet, there was no hope that Harry would ever be freed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed - lots of background activity has changed given the alternate universe scenario, and I really enjoyed thinking about what might be going on in the background.
> 
> A huge thank you to my repeat reviewers, your comments and encouragement are so exciting to me, so thank you. If you haven't already please do leave a review, they are my reward at the end of every long, challenging chapter!
> 
> The Malfoy Manor storyline is wrapping up soon - how do you think it will happen? How does Harry get outta there?


	8. Chapter 8 - Voldemort's Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 - Voldemort's Test

The changing light tracked the hours that passed uneventfully. Still no less imprisoned in this bedroom than he had been downstairs in the cellar, Harry remained seated in the high-backed armchair in complete silence.

He had been in this very position for what felt like hours now, watching the light change as the afternoon dragged on, the sun lowering in the sky. It must be mid afternoon now, and this time yesterday he had been strolling around the grounds of Hogwarts with Mrs Weasley and Bill, getting butterflies in his stomach as the Third Task drew nearer.

After a while the fear and dread that filled his heart began to ebb away, leaving his mind blank and empty. He simply sat there, staring at the bedroom door and taking in nothing but the changing light. It felt as though one by one his emotions had switched off, allowing him to encapsulate his mind and protect it from itself.

No longer did he think about Sirius and what harm he might suffer, and nor did he fear what was coming for himself. Very few thoughts of Voldemort or the Death Eaters crossed his mind, Harry ignoring the occasional sound he could hear elsewhere in Malfoy Manor. Footsteps on marble floors, a low conversation, a door closing…all were noticed, but not quite comprehended.

Instead he had merely existed, a being that was alive and breathing, but nothing more. Briefly he wondered if he was in shock, if he was catatonic…but that thought too was only fleeting.

Out of the blue, Harry's scar began the sear. It broke him out of his apathetic state, making him blink as he raised his hand to his forehead and touched the old wound. He knew what this must mean, his heart rate already elevated in response. Voldemort was here – but was Sirius here also?

Scrambling to his feet Harry tentatively moved through the bedroom, weaving around the furniture as he approached the door. Had they taken Sirius in broad daylight? If they had, surely he would have been ready, would have put up a fight. Buckbeak might have protected him – Harry was willing to bet Malfoy hadn't been expecting to encounter a hungry Hippogriff when he went after Sirius Black.

Listening intently Harry could hear a low murmur of voices outside the door, his scar beginning to burn a little more intensely. He backed away now, not wanting to put himself any closer to Voldemort than he had to. But who was he with? Was it Sirius out there…one of the Weasleys? Trying to prepare himself Harry retreated further into the room, wanting as much distance as possible between himself and whoever came in.

To his astonishment the opening of the door was precipitated by a polite knock, but his breath still caught in his throat when he saw Voldemort standing in the threshold. For a moment the two adversaries simply looked at each other, Harry trying to catch his elusive breath, and then he looked past Voldemort. There was no one else out there. Not Death Eaters, and not Sirius.

It was a small mercy.

Nevertheless he was still shaking when he looked back at Voldemort, on edge not just because of his presence, but the expression on his face. Like he had during every other encounter, Voldemort was peering at him with a curious expression, making him feel like an animal under observation.

Voldemort came into the room now, the door closing softly behind them. As he drew nearer Harry's scar seared again, making him flinch – and before he could stop himself he was taking a step backwards, trying to put more space between them. Voldemort pointed his wand towards the windows, and the curtains began to close, blocking the light.

While his eyes adjusted to the dim light Harry tried to steady himself against the searing pain in his forehead. Moments later light bloomed as a dozen or so candles around the room illuminated, and then a small fire erupted in the fireplace. The room began to warm, chasing away any chill in the air that came from the Dementor lingering nearby. Unable to help himself Harry looked towards the fireplace, longing to go closer.

Looking comfortable and at ease Voldemort seated himself in the high-backed chair opposite the one Harry had formerly occupied. All the while he was watching him, the warm flicker of light on his gruesome features completely at odds with his true nature. There was only silence for at least a minute, and Harry started to wonder what was going on, the reasons Voldemort had come here.

Though he was afraid, in some sick twisted way he was relieved it was Voldemort who had come for him. If it had been Malfoy…

'Master.'

The hissing voice came from out of nowhere, and when Harry looked around and saw a great snake meandering around the furniture his heart leapt into his throat. The last time he had seen this snake was last night in the graveyard. Nagini.

Nagini made her way across Voldemort's lap, giving what sounded like a shudder of delight when he stroked her, and then she draped herself over the top of the high backed chair, her head settling on his shoulder.

'Master…is it time?'

The length of her was draped all over the chair, and with her head she nuzzled the side of Voldemort's mutilated face, not unlike the way Crookshanks would nuzzle Hermione. The sight before him made Harry's stomach clench, his palms beginning to sweat. He'd never been one to fear snakes before, particularly being a Parsletongue, but perhaps that was beginning to change.

'Afraid not, Nagini,' Voldemort answered softly. He turned his head toward her, letting her rub against his chin. 'Soon, my sweet. A Muggle.'

She seemed dissatisfied with this response, her head immediately turning away. As he watched them Harry remembered the previous night, that Voldemort had promised his corpse to her. It was him she was asking about.

'Do not be afraid, Harry,' Voldemort said, his voice almost sounding kind. 'She will not harm you unless I command it.'

Harry didn't respond, a smart remark falling silent on his tongue. Now was not the time to be clever. He had to go back to what he was doing before. Full cooperation, without a hint of defiance. There had not yet been consequences for his earlier actions, and there was still plenty of time for them to bring Sirius here, to hurt him.

Voldemort was reaching out one of his disfigured, spider-like hands, ushering him to come closer. Left with no choice Harry tentatively came forward a few paces, moving again as Voldemort ushered him closer and closer. Moving around the furniture he came to stand right in front of him, close enough for them to touch, and before he gave the next command Harry knew what it would be.

'Kneel.'

Harry obeyed, absolutely complicit with his instructions. He was shaking, still afraid of what was coming for him, of what might happen to Sirius. But in the back of his mind was a small hope – Sirius wasn't there, and Nagini had been promised a Muggle, not a blood traitor.

When Voldemort instructed him to lower his head Harry obeyed again, trying to ignore the intense vulnerability he felt. He was kneeling at Voldemort's feet, unable to see anything but the carpet right in front of him. He lurched in surprise when he felt Nagini's tail slip down and hit him across the shoulder, surprised by the weight behind it, but he quickly resumed his submissive position, waiting for whatever would happen next.

Voldemort was scolding Nagini, telling her to leave him alone. Harry just waited in apprehension, trying not to hold his breath. He had to breathe, or else he was going to pass out from fear alone. The small fire burning nearby now felt uncomfortably warm, and soon a sweat broke out across his hairline.

'My Death Eaters reported to me what happened today,' Voldemort began, sounding conversational. 'I will of course offer you the opportunity to explain.'

'It was an accident,' Harry said quickly, being truthful. 'I didn't mean to.'

'Oh, but you did mean to,' Voldemort disagreed, his voice dropping. 'Perhaps you didn't know it at the time. Wandless magic is rooted in a decision made by the wizard, even accidental. A decision to fight whatever adversary they face. Look at me, Harry.'

Obeying, Harry braced himself and then looked up, meeting Voldemort's eye. He stayed silent, not knowing what to say – because Voldemort was right, at least in this case. He recalled all too well the anger that had erupted within him. In that instant where Lucius Malfoy was threatening to hurt Sirius, Harry had seen red. He wanted to fight them, he wanted to hurt them. He wanted to make Malfoy regret even thinking about hurting the people he loved.

'Oh yes…you wanted to fight them. Isn't it true, Harry?'

Hesitating, Harry's mind raced for a suitable answer. Yes, he had wanted to fight them, but it had only been for a split second after which it all just happened. Besides, all of that fight was gone now. He had nothing left. He couldn't fight Voldemort.

'I…I ju-'

'Do not lie to me, Harry. I will know. I know what's in your heart.'

To Voldemort, there was only one acceptable answer. The truth. Harry felt trapped, backed into a corner, and in a moment of weakness he looked down, bowing his head. 'Yes,' he confessed.

'You wanted to hurt them.'

'Yes.'

'You chose to defy me.'

Harry began to tremble now. Without raising his head he looked up as best he could, now certain he was going to see Sirius dragged into the room at any second, perhaps already dead. He couldn't bear to lose Sirius. He barely got to know his Godfather, and he hadn't even been able to enjoy his freedom.

'You chose to defy me,' Voldemort repeated.

'I didn't mean to…' Harry pleaded. When he felt Nagini's tail bat him across the shoulder a second time he lowered his gaze back to the floor. 'Please, give me another chance.'

'And how shall I ensure you won't defy me again?' Voldemort thoughtfully mused. 'Sirius Black? Is that what it would take to guarantee your obedience?'

Harry shook his head, desperately searching for the right combination of words that would satisfy Voldemort. He needed a second chance. 'I can do it. I will do it, just don't hurt anyone. Please.'

Voldemort paused, no doubt aware of how much his every pause agonised him. 'Remember, Harry, there are ways to punish a person without physical pain. Sirius Black…your replacement for the mother and father I took from you. He will be first.'

'I understand,' he said hurriedly.

'Who would come after Black? Who would be next?'

He hesitated. Voldemort was going to make him say this. 'The Weasleys.'

'No,' Voldemort corrected him, sitting forward in a little. 'It will be your Mudblood friend. She will be next. Even blood traitors rank higher than Mudbloods.'

Harry nodded. 'I understand. I do.' Another long pause came to pass, one that tempted Harry to look up, though he did not. He could feel Voldemort studying him at length, the intense gaze making him feel uncomfortable. Daring to risk it, he spoke again. 'What do I have to do?'

'An interesting question,' Voldemort said cryptically, continuing as if he hadn't stopped a moment. 'How are you enjoying the accommodations here?'

Harry's mind raced. Voldemort would know that he was lying, and there was no point in trying to pretend anything other than the truth. But he couldn't be so blunt as to tell the truth, could he?'

'You've not eaten, nor bathed and dressed in the clothing provided,' Voldemort pressed on patiently. 'Why not?'

'I don't want to,' he quietly answered.

'And if I instructed you to do so?'

Harry paused, but there was only one answer he could give. 'I would do it.'

At this, Voldemort seemed satisfied. He seemed to sigh under his breath, and Harry watched in his peripheral sight as he affectionately stroked Nagini, his demeanour relaxed and at ease.

'Do you recall why I brought you here?'

'To keep me.'

'To this room, I meant.'

'S-so…' Harry began, wracking his brain again. He knew this answer, Voldemort had explained it to him. 'To reward my obedience.'

'Have you been obedient, Harry?'

'I've…tried.'

'Yes, you've indeed tried,' Voldemort agreed. 'Do you wish to stay?'

'No,' Harry blurted out, before cringing with regret. Telling the truth was one thing, but he had to be careful not to offend. 'I-I mean, no,' he repeated, softer this time.

Voldemort did not seem offended, at least not that Harry could tell. 'What would you do if I were to set you free?'

This took Harry's full attention. Free. Yet he didn't allow hope to erupt inside him, knowing it was a trick. It was part of the torture, and there was only one acceptable answer. 'I'd do whatever you wanted me to do.'

Voldemort laughed at his response, the high pitched and throaty noise sounding unnatural and manufactured. 'I've heard many things about you, Harry,' Voldemort commented, his voice lighter now, almost friendly. 'You might promise to do my bidding now, but you would go straight to Albus Dumbledore. You would tell him everything. It's alright, Harry. I understand. What would you do?'

His mind frozen, Harry scrambled for a clear thought. None of this made sense to him, Voldemort's strange responses making him feel like he had whiplash. Just when he thought he had this figured out, that Voldemort wanted his mindless obedience, it changed. There was only one other thing he could fall back on, one other thing that seemed to satisfy Voldemort. The truth.

'I would tell Dumbledore.'

'Everything?'

It still felt like a trick. 'Yes. Everything.'

There was a long pause now, Harry's skin breaking out in gooseflesh despite the warmth of the nearby fire. He simply knelt there waiting, trying to brace himself for whatever was coming next…but there was no way to prepare himself for the words Voldemort spoke.

'I forgive your indiscretion.'

Mentally Harry faltered, for surely he had misheard. He stayed very still, not moving a muscle as if this was a trick, certain Voldemort was luring him into a false sense of security. He was forgiven? That couldn't be real…what was he playing at? His mind was reeling, ever confused as to what Voldemort wanted from him.

'Your bravery last night impressed me. It was that quality which led to me allowing you to live. For a while it was my intention to keep you here at Malfoy Manor, lest you one day serve me a purpose. But that has been proven all for naught. You have no use to me. Do you understand, Harry?'

He nodded slowly, looking at the floor. There was a long pause, and he felt Voldemort expected him to speak. 'Are you going to kill me?'

The long pause continued, and Harry could feel Voldemort staring at him long and hard, considering him at great length. Displacing Nagini's tail from his lap Voldemort got to his feet, towering over Harry. 'Look at me.'

He obeyed. When he did he found Voldemort's deep red eyes glimmering, and though he wanted to look away he couldn't, frozen in place as though Voldemort himself has petrified him. Voldemort towered over him, and being on his knees at his feet might have been humiliating were he not so confused trying to keep up.

'You want to live.'

It was a statement, not a question. Chest tightening, emotion welled up inside of him, and it took everything he had to keep it at bay. 'Yes,' he managed to choke out.

To his ever increasing confusion Voldemort turned away from him, moving away from the sitting area. He watched him go, his mind reeling from what Voldemort had just made him say out loud. He wanted to live, desperately so, but he couldn't keep going for much longer. If this was it and Voldemort was going to kill him, he might be okay with that. He wanted to live, but ending things would be a kindness.

'Such sweet, sweet blood,' Nagini whispered, turning her attention to him.

Revolted, Harry tried his best to ignore her, though his skin crawled under her intense stare. Instead he watched Voldemort, who after a moment of thought as extended his hand towards the bedroom door. It opened slowly, and after a beat someone entered, having been waiting outside.

It was a Death Eater, their identity concealed by the hood of their cloak and their full face mask. Voldemort appeared to welcome them in, gesturing for them to come to his side, and then they began to speak quietly.

Voldemort hadn't told him not to, and so Harry watched them in interest, wishing he knew who it was behind the mask and hood. Was it Malfoy, or was it Snape, Voldemort's trusted spy who had supposedly played both sides at the end of the last war?

A heavy thump from right in front of him made Harry jump in fright, his heart jolting inside his chest when he looked around to see Nagini. She had slithered off the chair towards him, the length of her body pooling on the small patch of floor between him and the chair. To his horror she was still looking at him in great interest, and perhaps she too was wavering in her obedience of Lord Voldemort.

Quickly he tried to move away, but she was faster. He froze when she brushed up against him, moving only to cringe in disgust, unable to help himself. When she slithered across his lap he noted that she was as thick as his thigh, and far heavier than he would have expected. At her touch his scar was searing again, making spots of light appear in his eyes.

Draped over his lap her head came face to face with his. Her tongue slipped in and out of her mouth as she studied him, the intense interest only making Harry's fear increase. He moved his eyes back to Voldemort, begging him to turn around and take notice, to see what his snake was doing. But even as this ridiculous plea occurred to him, Harry knew that Voldemort must be aware, and that he was enjoying his discomfort. Still talking with the Death Eater, Voldemort ignored him.

Harry was panting for breath, reaching one hand up to press against his scar. 'Get off me,' he demanded in Parsletongue, unable to stand the mere touch of her.

'So hungry, Master…'

Moving further across him Nagini nuzzled his neck like just she had done to Voldemort. Harry thought for sure this was it, that she was going to make him crack – but he could do nothing. He couldn't fight her, he couldn't offend or disrespect Voldemort's pet. But instinct began to overrule him, convinced he could feel Nagini's jaw open to expose her fangs.

Venom was dripping onto his skin, he was sure of it, while Nagini continued to nuzzle him, rubbing against the throbbing artery of his neck. Terrified, Harry prepared himself to push her away, but he didn't dare take action…he wouldn't be fast enough. She would bite him…she would kill him in an instant.

'Nagini. Come away…'

When Nagini obeyed Harry let out a breath of relief, breathing a little easier as the snake slithered back onto the chair. But his relief was short lived, for a dreadful feeling began creeping over him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. The Death Eater seemed to be looking at him while Voldemort walked around them in a circle, whispering soft words that Harry could not hear.

As the feeling intensified Harry was certain that something was about to happen. Tentatively he rose to his feet, moving away. The Death Eater's gaze continued to follow him, watching his every move even as he looked around for something - anything with which he could defend himself. Not that he'd ever get the chance. No Death Eater would allow a repeat of what happened that afternoon.

Voldemort slowed to a stop now, and while the Death Eater stared at Harry, Voldemort stared at them. Harry held his breath, wanting to ask what was going to happen, but too scared to speak. He glanced behind himself, seeing a stained glass lamp on a nearby side table, almost within reach…but attempting to defend himself again would only make things worse.

'Come closer, Harry,' Voldemort invited, gesturing at him with his hand. But when Harry didn't move his demeanour changed, becoming colder again. 'If you truly wish to live, then you will obey.'

Trying to breathe Harry glanced at the Death Eater hidden behind their mark, dreading what was about to happen. Voldemort might not be intending to kill him, but there was no alternative here that was much better.

Still he managed a small step forward, and that at least brought him a little leeway. Voldemort gestured him closer again, patient with him now, and then finally Harry summoned the nerve. As Voldemort continued prompting him he stepped out from the sitting area into the bedroom, and now there was nothing but space between them, leaving him completely exposed.

Voldemort had already turned away, having lost interest in him already. Instead he was speaking to the Death Eater again, and this time he didn't attempt to conceal what he was saying.

'I question your commitment to the cause,' he warned, his voice a low hiss. 'I question your loyalty to me. It is time to prove yourself.'

The Death Eater didn't seem to like this comment, and the mere suggestion that they were unloyal prompted them to act. Without delay they drew their wand and pointed it at Harry, who didn't even have a split second in which to react, to protect himself.

It was only a smooth flick of the wand, a small flash of white light - but what it inflicted was anything but small. A hot jolt of pain flashed across Harry's forearm, making him cry out in pain, and then again in shock. As if in a horrible nightmare he clutched at an open wound on his left arm, horrified by the surge of blood that spilled over his fingers.

Harry looked up as if in outrage - but the attack came a second time, another small flicker of light flashing across his face. A flinch saved him, he turned away at the last second and tried to protect himself, the back of his hand catching all but a small cut on his cheek.

'Stop!' he shouted hoarsely, shrinking away as the Death Eater advanced on him, wand still raised. 'No!'

The third smooth flick of their wrist was met with resistance, the flash of light hitting a shield charm Harry had somehow conjured. The light bounced away elegantly, striking the four poster bed and leaving a long gash in the sheer green curtains.

Harry felt faint…he was going to be sick.

Warm blood was trickling down his arm and fingers, dripping onto the antique carpets as he clumsily tried to step the flow. He looked up just as another flash of light rebounded from his shield charm, but he could hardly summon the breath to cry out. Feeling unsteady on his feet he lowered himself down to his knees, trying to catch his breath.

'What do you want?' he managed to say, pleading for an answer - he needed to understand.

Disregarding him completely Voldemort was saying something to the Death Eater, while Nagini impatiently slithered around the bedroom, but Harry could hear only the sound of his own breathing. Once again he was housed behind a shield charm, an invisible protection but for the occasional shimmer that served to reassure him of its presence.

His hands were slippery with blood, and amongst the initial horror of what the Death Eater just did it took him a minute to realise the bleeding had stopped. He was going to be okay. He shakily raised his right hand and wiped away the blood on his face, gasping as he began to observe the cut on his other hand. It was jagged and gruesome, and for one awful moment he thought he could see right down to the bone.

As this thought occurred to him he was engulfed in agony, the Cruciatus curse coming without warning. It penetrated his shield charm with great ease, and his only warning was the glow of red light from the Death Eater's wand. He couldn't even draw breath to scream, his body writhing in agony as he clawed at himself, an insane desperation to find the source of the pain, to make it stop.

When the pain vanished Harry gasped for air as though he had been drowning, his throat searing as he gulped it down and oxygen flooded his brain. He tased blood in his mouth, felt its warmth on his face as he shuddered. A few moments was all he got, moments in which he simultaneously gasped for air and prayed for it to end, for death to release him - but he had barely opened his eyes when the curse struck again.

It was brutal savagery, and when it was over he thought for a moment that he might actually be dead. His heart wasn't beating, there was no pain, no joy, nothing…until there was. Coming to he felt the searing pain in his chest and throat, pain that flared with every gasped breath. He was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling as a low conversation was held somewhere nearby, but Harry heard none of it.

He tried to move, to push himself up and fight again, but he simply couldn't. Instead he slumped over onto his side, facing away from Voldemort and the nameless Death Eater as he stifled a low cry of despair. His whole body was shaking, a harsh convulsion making him dry retch and then gasp for breath.

It was difficult to know how long he lay there before something else happened. Harry had turned in on himself, determined that he wasn't going to face anything else today, that he was truly done. He felt Voldemort's presence nearby, and though it wasn't a matter of bravery he refused to open his eyes, he refused to look at the monster holding him captive like this.

'Our paths will cross again, Harry Potter.'

Though he heard what Voldemort said, the words held no meaning to him. He didn't care to try and understand, his only care being that moments later he felt Voldemort's lingering presence disappear. The sound of Nagini slithering around and pleading for her next meal also disappeared at the same time, departing at the same time as her master, but Harry paid little attention.

The pain in his scar dissipated, leaving only a dull headache, but that was the least of Harry's concern right now. As he gathered his thoughts he focused on breathing shallowly, the discomfort in his chest and throat easing with the smaller breaths. After a little while he allowed his eyes to flicker open, and though his glasses had fallen off somewhere he could see enough to make out a white bandage on his arm and hand.

He studied the bandage a little more, trying to understand it. But slowly he turned his thoughts elsewhere, trying to remember what misstep he took that led to being tortured again. His thoughts were jumbled, distracted by the pain in his arm which continued to throb, but slowly things started coming together. He hadn't done anything to deserve that torture. Voldemort had forgiven him after all.

The while time Voldemort had been whispering to the Death Eater, saying something that must have goaded them into torturing him. I question your commitment to the cause. I question your loyalty to me. It is time to prove yourself.

Slowly he came to understand that none of that had been about his obedience, nor about what he had done earlier. The Death Eater had been proving themselves by torturing him. How many times was that going to happen again? How many Death Eaters would need to prove their loyalty after failing Voldemort for all these years?

Bile began to rise from his stomach, burning in his throat. He wished they would just let him die, knowing that he wasn't strong enough to endure this torture any more. Death would be nothing compared to this, and he could see his parents again.

Harry didn't care to put any further thought in Voldemort's parting words, uninterested in what he meant by them. He just closed his eyes and focused on breathing, knowing only that once again he had survived.

It wasn't over yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Next chapter is my favourite so far, I can't wait for you to read it!
> 
> I really enjoyed writing the Harry and Voldemort interaction, and hope it read well to you as the audience. I'm sure it's not a huge mystery who the Death Eater was and why they had to prove their loyalty, but to Harry it will be a mystery a little longer.
> 
> This section of the story is almost wrapped up now, and over the next few chapters we'll be moving on to a different pace, but still dealing with what's happened here.
> 
> Please do leave a review, that are so valuable and encouraging and important to me!


	9. Chapter 9 - The Portkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 - The Portkey

It felt like a great deal of time had passed before something else happened. Still curled up on his side Harry stared blankly in a state of apathy. He thought of nothing and no one, but he was wide awake as he waited for someone to come back. It would all start again sooner or later.

His arm was still clutched against his chest, the white bandage keeping the injuries protected. It ached and throbbed, but he dared not remove the bandage. There was nothing he could do to offer himself any relief except stay perfectly still. Only his chest moved with each breath in and out, breaths he had to consciously take or else his body might forget.

When he heard movement behind himself Harry began to rouse, instantly on alert.

He heard the sound of soft footsteps, could see the shadow of a person cast on the wall. Whoever it was approached him, and Harry could hear them speaking, telling him to get up, but he did nothing. It wasn't that he didn't hear, or than he was ignoring them…it wasn't even a conscious refusal. He just couldn't move, too cautious of the pain he would feel when he finally did.

They were hovering above him, their black leather shoes barely a foot from his face, close enough to kick him. Their black robes pooled on the floor when they crouched down to him, and it was this that made Harry move for the first time in what might have been hours. Whatever they wanted could not be good. He rolled onto his back and tried to turn away.

Whoever it was had grown impatient with him, and after unsuccessfully coaxing him to get up again they took matters into their own hands. Taking him by the upper arm they hauled him into a sitting position, grasping the back of his school shirt to keep him steady. When something wet began to wipe at his face Harry recoiled, pulling away in alarm.

'Stop,' he pleaded hoarsely, clumsily pushing it away.

Whatever it was vanished, allowing him to catch his breath as he struggled to stay upright. He breathed slowly, conscious the Death Eater was still there crouched beside him, holding him up. His eyes fluttered open, noticing that his glasses were back on his face, as clean and undamaged as ever.

What did they want with him? When would they finally be done?

'Drink,' the voice said.

There was a hand beneath his jaw, something hard pressed against his lips – a glass vial. Harry recoiled and shoved it away, bright red liquid spilling out onto the carpet. The Death Eater grew frustrated with him, and this time when they spoke he recognised their voice – it was unmistakable.

'Are you listening to me, Potter? Or have you already succumbed to your own weak-mindedness?'

It was Snape who crouched in front of him, Snape trying to force him to drink some unknown poison. Like earlier that day he hadn't bothered donning his hooded robes or Death Eater mask, apparently not caring that Harry could identify him. He simply stared down at him with mixed expression of impatience and disgusted pity, his snarling voice not hiding any of it.

The glare that crossed Harry's face was the only answer he needed to give. At Snape's insult he felt himself returning to his mind, remembering the way he stood there and watched on as the Death Eaters tried to attack him, muttering instructions and encouragement.

'It's Salamander blood,' Snape said irritably. 'You will drink it, or I will make you drink it.'

Harry furiously tried to look away, but it proved difficult with Snape holding him by the jaw. When he felt the vial pressed against his lips he pressed his mouth shut tightly, but it was only a not so subtle squeeze that brought him back to his senses. There was no use in fighting this…not when Snape could force it down his throat.

Cooperating now he parted his lips and allowed the blood in the vial to be tipped into his mouth. It was thick and gelatinous, the texture making him gag in disgust, but he couldn't spit it out with Snape's hand pressed over his mouth. With no other choice Harry swallowed the and immediately began to feels its effects.

It was as if he had taken a long drink of water, like the contents of that vial was the one thing his body craved the most. Swallowing a second time he sought whatever was left in his mouth, craving more. The fuzzy edges of the world became clearer now, his body slowly beginning to feel as if he'd awoken from a long and restful sleep. Another vial was brought to his lips, the Salamander blood again, and he willingly drank.

'Get up,' Snape instructed, taking him by the arm again and pulling him up.

This time he did as was asked, able to get to his feet and remain steady. Apparently satisfied, Snape wasted no time with further kindnesses. Just as he had when he dragged Harry out of the cellar he yanked on his arm, making him walk alongside him. Complying, Harry allowed Snape to steer him out into the hall, bracing himself for whatever was coming next.

Voldemort wasn't here anymore, and nor was the Dementor, he could feel that…but what was happening?

The moment they stepped out into the hall Harry found himself blinded yet again, the black hood from earlier returning. He didn't care enough to protest, and simply followed as Snape began leading him through the Manor. It was the same twist of corridors they had taken, this sense confirmed when they began to descend a curved staircase, and then he felt the environment change.

They were outside again, feet crunching over the gravel drive as they walked in silence. All the while Harry tried to process what was going on, surprised that nothing terrible seemed to be waiting for him. Without his sight he relief solely on his other senses, and as they walked he got the feeling it was definitely after nightfall.

'Is Sirius okay?'

He dared to ask the question, conscious he was asking someone who despised Sirius with every fibre of his being, but he had to ask. No response came, which made him feel relieved. No news was better than bad news.

'You're not going to kill me,' he stated, listening intently for Snape's reaction. 'They'd all be here if you were going to kill me.'

'Regrettably, I am not going to kill you.'

A few minutes later they slowed to a stop, Snape instructing him to remain still as the grip on his upper arm tightened to the point of pain. Instantly he felt the extreme tightness all over his body, vividly recalling it from the previous night when Malfoy had brought him here.

Recognising what was happening didn't make it any less pleasant, but when it was over he was surprised to find that he could see again. The hood was gone, though its absence didn't allow him to see very much. It was indeed after night fall, but all he could tell was they had arrived on a narrow country road, surrounded on both sides by what seemed like empty fields.

Gripping his arm less tightly now Snape tugged at him to start walking. Along the way Snape's grip on his arm never faltered, and though he felt the impulse to try and flee Harry knew better than that. It was incredible enough that he had fought off Malfoy and Carrow, but he wouldn't stand a chance of doing that against Snape, especially now.

'Does Dumbledore know you're here?' he asked scathingly, looking up at Snape who stared straight ahead, not even sparing him a glance. 'Does he know what you're doing to me?'

'I assure you, Dumbledore is well aware.'

Incensed that Snape didn't even have the decency to sound ashamed of himself Harry was ready to retort with something else – but instead he shut up. His smart mouth had already gotten him into trouble, it had already pushed him to breaking point. He could not go through that anymore, especially not at the hands of Snape.

Together they walked for at least ten minutes, the evening sky growing darker still. As they went on Harry felt himself beginning to tire, his feet becoming heavy and cumbersome. The aches and pains throughout his body had returned also, the wounds on his left arm burning again. Snape noticed but did not sympathise, merely tugging on his arm to keep him going.

Trying to distract himself, Harry looked down into the valley below, studying the shining lights from what must be a small Muggle village. It was a beautiful evening, and he wondered if it was down there they were going. But surely not…

They passed through a fence in a low stone wall, and it took Harry a few moments to recognise his new surroundings, the dark shapes that loomed up around him a telling clue. It was a graveyard, and there was no need to see anything more to know it was the graveyard from last night. He felt his heart begin to accelerate, every fibre of his being telling him to run, to make a break for it…but a smaller voice told him to wait.

Snape felt him slowing down, starting to drag his feet, and finally he seemed to take pity. He steered him right a few yards and then stopped abruptly, but his grip on Harry's arm became tighter. There was little he could see in the darkness, but he felt the tip of Snape's wand pressed against the centre of his chest, an explicit warning to not try anything stupid.

'Are you listening, Potter?'

It took Harry a few moments to answer, beginning to feel scared again. 'Yes.'

Snape lit his wand now, and then used it to point down between a long row of gravestones. 'Down there,' he started simply, releasing Harry's arm and then stepping back. 'You will find the Portkey and Diggory's body. You will not be stopped.'

Not quite understanding, Harry said and did nothing. Snape repeated himself, gesturing down the way a second time, but still Harry said nothing. He looked in the direction Snape was pointing, his fear only increasing. What was going on?

'I don't believe you,' he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape stared at him for a long moment, holding his gaze. 'The Dark Lord has shown you his mercy. He expects you to remember it.'

'No,' Harry shook his head, still not believing him. He began to tremble now, suddenly unable to breathe…why was Snape doing this? What was there to gain from tormenting him further?

Stepping back even further, Snape created more distance between them, his wand pointed back at him again. 'Potter' he said. Snape waited until he looked at him, and then from inside his robes he withdrew Harry's wand. Showing it to him he tossed it to the ground.

Harry just stared, his gaze moving between his wand on the ground and Snape. This wasn't happening, this was just a cruel, inhumane trick. Nevertheless he darted forward and snatched up his wand, clutching it tightly as he raised it to Snape. But in the split second he had looked away from him Snape had disappeared, and Harry was pointing his wand at thin air.

Shocked, Harry whirled around on the spot. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the punchline of this joke. Death Eaters had to be lingering among the headstones, just waiting for him to let his guard down. Minutes passed by, and there wasn't even the whisper of another person around. Everything was silent and still.

He was reunited with his wand, but there was barely time to think about it, to appreciate it like he had failed to do any time before. There was one word Snape said that rang through his mind. Diggory.

His stomach twisted itself at this thought, despair welling up inside of him. Cedric wasn't dead, he couldn't possibly be. Harry found himself unable to move a muscle, too frightened to face the truth. If he stayed right there he would never have to confront it. This could remain a terrible nightmare and nothing more.

But it was Cedric that compelled him to move forward, and the massive debt he owed the first Hogwarts champion. _'We'll take it at the same time. It's still a Hogwarts victory. We'll tie for it.'_ Had Harry just taken the Cup alone, Cedric would never have been involved.

Lighting his wand Harry tentatively began making his way between the headstones, following Snape's directions. As he walked he looked over his shoulder and all around, still wondering if this was a trick, if Snape had really disappeared – if he really was being freed.

_The Dark Lord has shown you his mercy_. That couldn't be real.

As he made his way through the graveyard he continued telling himself that it was a trick, a bad dream…and then it became real. Before he was ready to face the truth he came across Cedric's body, and everything fell into place. What had happened to them was real. Not a trick, not an extra part of the Third Task…it was real. Cedric was dead.

Cedric lay exactly as he had fallen last night, arms sprawled and eyes still open. Abandoned in death, Voldemort and the Death Eaters hadn't even cared to dispose of his body, or perhaps it hadn't occurred to them. Things last night were after all, rather disorganised.

For the longest time Harry simply stared at him, unable to go any closer. Even a few feet away he could see that leaves had fallen over his lifeless body, few ants crawling over his face and clothing.

Unable to bear it any longer Harry looked around, recognising the gravestone he cowered behind right before someone disarmed him, moments before he was captured. Looking further through the darkness he recognised the tall, grand headstone of Tom Riddle, Voldemort's muggle father. The enormous cauldron from which Voldemort arose was gone, and the only evidence of what happened here were a few damaged headstones, and Cedric.

Looking back to Cedric again, Harry felt a brief moment of cowardice – he couldn't bear to go nearer. The Cup was close by, he could see it from where he stood, and with a heavy heart he stepped towards it. He would go back alone. He could go back to Hogwarts without Cedric's body, could send someone else back here to retrieve it.

But he stopped himself. The scene in the maze played out in his head like a movie, he and Cedric deciding to take the cup together, and then the Cedric who came out of Voldemort's wand and asked him to take his body back to his parents.

Harry's heart pounded as he remembered his parents coming out of the wand too. They had told him to run and he had failed them. For one insane moment he considered not going back to Hogwarts at all, questioning how he could ever face anyone again, but these thoughts passed quickly.

Suddenly he was sure of himself, knowing that although he had failed his parents by not saving himself, he didn't have to fail Cedric too. He couldn't leave him there a moment longer, he couldn't abandon him in death just like the Death Eaters had. Right now only he could help Cedric, and there was something he could do about the awful situation he was in. He finally had the power to do something.

Returning to Cedric's side he knelt down, bracing himself before touching Cedric's hand. His stomach jolted when he found his skin cool to the touch, having not really thought to expect that. Cedric's wrist was hard and stiff, and now he could barely breathe. He had to take a few moments to steady himself, clenching his eyes shut as he waited for this horror to pass him by.

Without thinking too much he reached out and brushed the ants and leaves off Cedric's face, still sickened by the idea that he had been simply abandoned here, that the Death Eaters hadn't even cared enough to cover up his death.

Harry's head was becoming foggier by the minute, his strength waning. Worried that he might not ever get to safety if his body gave out he knew he had to act now, while he physically still could. It was this urgency that compelled him to reach out to Cedric again.

He needed only to be touching him for the Portkey to work, and with his bandaged hand Harry touched his fingertips to Cedric's cold skin. With a great shuddered breath he collected himself enough to act, to do what absolutely needed to be done before his good fortune vanished. Harry raised his wand and pointed at the Cup that lay nearby.

'Accio.'

The jolt behind his naval was familiar, but Harry didn't allow himself to feel any sense of relief until he felt himself slam down to the ground. When his knees hit soft earth he swayed precariously, struggling to keep his head up and his eyes open. He gasped for breath, looking around long enough to recognise the green lawn in front of him and the Quidditch stands a little further away. Harry looked down at Cedric who lay sprawled on the grass before him, and he felt nothing but immense relief. Nothing went wrong this time.

There was noise all around him, a loud commotion...

Perhaps it was the effects of the Portkey, or maybe the sudden jolt of being free - but he suddenly felt weary beyond his years. His eyes rolled in his head, and unable to hold himself up any longer he slumped down to his side with a great gasp of relief. There was a soft thud as the Cup fell from his other hand onto the soft grass, and then blissful silence.

He did not move. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of him, his head was swimming so badly he felt as though the ground beneath him was swaying like the deck of a ship. To hold himself steady he let go of his wand - he wouldn't need it anymore. Instead he clutched at Cedric, holding onto him. He felt as though he would slide away into the blackness gathering at the edges of his mind if he let go.

Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass. The only thing he could comprehend was the visceral need to sleep, to feel his exhausted and tormented body sink into the sweet nothingness of rest. He wanted to lay there forever.

But his torment wasn't over, that much was clear. Someone had hurried over, he could hear them shouting his name, and then they seized him and turned him onto his back. Harry flinched as they shook him, his eyes screwed up shut before he reluctantly opened them. Vaguely recognising the voice of the person who was shaking him and calling his name he raised his hand to his face, shielding himself from the wand light.

'Good Merlin,' Mr Weasley whimpered, closing his eyes. 'You're alive.'

'What's going on?' a frantic voice asked. 'What's happened?'

Blinking, Harry struggled to take it all in, his mind failing to connect the dots between the familiar voice and the faces that hovered above him. He closed his eyes and turned away, wishing he could rest.

'My God – Diggory!' the frantic voice whispered. 'Arthur – he's dead!'

Startled, Harry gripped Cedric's wrist even tighter when he felt fingers trying to prise him away. Despite his initial reluctance, Cedric's body was the only thing that mattered to him. He wasn't ready to be parted.

'Harry, let go of him,' Mr Weasley breathed. 'Harry, you can't help him now. It's over. Let go.'

Harry tried to explain, it was important to explain that Cedric asked him to bring him back. But Mr Weasley was pulling him up into a sitting position, his normally kind face now marred by panic and fright. He shied away when Mr Weasley gave him another shake, feeling a distinct sense of loss when he realised he had let get of Cedric, that he was gone.

He looked back frantically, already reaching out to him again, but Mr Weasley was pulling him to his feet. Harry ignored his repeated enquiries, his urgent questions…he felt empty and numb, unable to really understand what was going on around him. He could hear a murmur of panic and horror growing, and Cedric's name was spreading like wildfire.

Confused and unsteady, Harry looked around for the one person who could fix all of it, who could make it right again. There was no crowd of tournament spectators here anymore. The maze was gone and the Quidditch stands were empty, though there were dozens of people around.

Lightheaded, he began to stagger, grateful for Mr Weasley holding him upright. Further away he could make out a large shape that must be Hagrid, he heard someone calling out. It felt chaotic, disorganised…it was a mess, and so finally Harry managed to find his voice.

'Where's Dumbledore?'

'He's here,' Mr Weasley assured him, ushering Harry back a little as two wizards huddled around Cedric. 'He'll be here in just a minute.'

A minute was too long. He needed Dumbledore now.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to breathe, but he could hear people saying Cedric's name, and it compelled him to open his eyes again. He tried to explain, needing to tell someone what happened, but Mr Weasley leant down and whispered, telling him not to say anything yet.

As they waited he looked back to Cedric, watching as the two wizards talked quietly, reaching their inevitable conclusion. A moment later one of them conjured a plain white sheet and gently covered Cedric's body. Watching on Harry felt a moment of relief, the act of covering Cedric's body affording him a little of the dignity the Death Eaters had not.

'Where's Dumbledore?'

He asked more loudly this time, his voice stronger and more forceful, and then moments later he was there, and instantly he felt the burden begin to lift from his shoulders. Dumbledore alone could fix this. He would know what to do.

Reaching him Dumbledore looked him in the eye, and for a moment silence lingered between them. Harry got the feeling he didn't actually need to explain anything, that Dumbledore already knew what he was about to say.

'He's back,' Harry whispered. 'He's back. Voldemort.'

Dumbledore looked back at him, and gravely nodded. 'Yes. He's back.'

That was the only thing Harry needed. The weight lifted from his shoulders at Dumbledore's acknowledgement. It was over now, and the moment he had said those words he was relieved of the burden he carried – it was Dumbledore's burden now.

As this realisation took hold Harry closed his eyes tightly and lowered his head, releasing a great breath of relief. He felt Mr Weasley's arm around his shoulder, heard his comforting words as he held him close, but he didn't need to be comforted. It was over. That's all he needed.

'Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here,' Fudge said urgently, interrupting them.

'Wait here for me, Harry,' Dumbledore instructed, moving away. 'Stay with him, Arthur.'

'Amos Diggory's running…he's coming over…don't you think you should tell him – before he sees -?'

'Harry, stay here -'

Harry shook his head. He wanted to leave. This wasn't his problem anymore. It was done, it was finished. But at Mr Weasley's urging he stayed, taken aback when he pressed his wand back into his hand, firmly telling him to not drop it again. Nodding in agreement he gripped it tightly, vowing to never let it out of his sight again.

As others started to converge on them Mr Weasley was forced to divert his attention, releasing Harry and stepping in front of him. His tone became abrupt as he told people to stay back, the aggressiveness of his demeanour making Harry startle a little. Never in three years of knowing him had he heard Mr Weasley speak like that. He'd never even really raised his voice, yet he shouted at people to keep away, his wand ready by his side.

Harry looked up into the night sky, a glimmering image of the Tri-Wizard Cup floated in the air above the centre of the pitch bearing the Hogwarts crest. It was saluting a Hogwarts win just like he and Cedric had wanted, and Harry wondered how long it had hung there in the air until people realised something terrible had gone wrong, that the two champions were missing.

Simply staring up at it Harry thought about how he had encouraged Cedric to take the cup with him. He hadn't wanted to steal the thunder of the true Hogwarts champion. Cedric hadn't wanted to, he had wanted Harry to win.

'Harry, what about some water?' Mr Weasley asked, encouraging Harry to take the goblet of water he was offering. 'Come on. Some water?'

He didn't answer, barely hearing him even when he repeated the question, nudging him insistently. The image of the cup in the air held his attention, for it shimmered beautifully from the wand light down on the pitch. But it was hard to appreciate it, given it had come at the cost of Cedric's life. Why was it even still there?

'Alastor, thank Merlin,' Mr Weasley said in relief, gesturing to the other people around them. 'Keep them back, won't you? I think he's in shock. He's in no state to deal with them.'

'It's alright, Arthur,' Professor Moody assured him. 'I've got it from here.'

Harry drew his gaze away from the shimmering cup above the pitch, glad to see Professor Moody's gnarled face. He seemed to look at him sympathetically, clasping him on the shoulder and ushering him to follow. When Harry didn't move he grasped him around the upper arm and gave him a gentle nudge.

'It's all right, son, I've got you…come on…hospital wing…'

Looking back up at the cup, Harry complied without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N A new phase of the story starts now, so while things will be hard it won't be 'Malfoy Manor' hard. Hope you continue enjoying the next few chapters and both the deviations and similarities to the GoF.
> 
> Thanks for the reviews guys, much appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10 - The Imposter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 - The Imposter

'Alastor, thank Merlin,' Mr Weasley said in relief, gesturing to the other people around them. 'Keep them back, won't you? I think he's in shock…he's in no state to deal with them.'

'It's alright, Arthur,' Professor Moody assured him. 'I've got it from here.'

Harry drew his gaze away from the shimmering cup above the pitch, glad to see Professor Moody's gnarled face. He seemed to look at him sympathetically, clasping him on the shoulder and ushering him to follow. When Harry didn't move he grasped him around the upper arm and gave him a gentle nudge.

'It's all right, son, I've got you…come on…hospital wing…'

Looking back up at the cup, Harry complied without a second thought. He was completely and utterly exhausted, struggling to even put one foot in front of the other. As he focused on trying to remain upright he barely registered the protests Mr Weasley was making, not hearing him implore Harry to wait.

'Alastor,' Mr Weasley said urgently. 'He needs to stay with Dumbledore.'

Professor Moody tried to brush him off, waving him away. 'He's hurt. The boy needs to lie down.'

Agreeing, Harry tried to brush off Mr Weasley's protests, weakly telling him that it was alright, that he wanted to go. But it made no use, and Mr Weasley followed them persistently.

'Alastor, he has to wait with Dumbledore. Anything could happen to him!'

When Professor Moody stopped in his tracks so too did Harry, his head heavy as he gave a low sigh of exasperation. He couldn't deal with this…why wouldn't they just let him rest? Closing his eyes for a moment he listened to the two of them talking heatedly, wishing they would hurry it up.

'Arthur look at the state of him!' Moody growled, trying to usher Harry forward. 'He needs the Hospital Wing.'

'Dumbledore said wait!'

When Harry opened his eyes he blinked in surprise, finding Mr Weasley standing in their way. His wand was raised at Moody, a fellow wizard who he had known for years and spoke highly of. For a moment he looked back and forth between them, trying to understand…

It was like Harry had suddenly woken up - something was wrong. Mr Weasley had drawn his wand against a highly skilled Auror, and he knew who he trusted the most. With a great lurch he tried to pull away from Moody, but Moody wouldn't release him.

'I won't let you take him, Alastor,' Mr Weasley stated, willing to stand his ground. 'Dumbledore said wait here. Let him go.'

The standoff lasted a few moments more, Harry's breaths quickening as he watched Moody apprehensively, waiting for him to draw his wand – to attack. But then the grip on his arm loosened enough for him to pull away.

Looking rather disgruntled, Moody pocketed his wand and glared at Mr Weasley once more, while his magical eye spun round and round. 'I'll tell Pomfrey he's on his way,' he said in annoyance.

Without a second look at Harry he made his way past them, his wooden leg thumping on the grass as he stalked back up to the castle. Mr Weasley was clearly shaken by the incident, and he kept his wand drawn. With a heavy breath he put his arm around Harry's shoulder, pulling him close.

'Everything's alright,' he said kindly, reassuring himself as much as Harry. 'It's alright now. It's all over.'

Nodding, Harry just remained silent. His brief moments of clarity had faded again, his head beginning to hurt so much he thought he might be sick. There were still other people around, people who had watched the scene with Moody unfold and were asking questions, but Mr Weasley handled it all.

He was so tired, and he tried to tell Mr Weasley, but all that came out was a slurred jumble of words. He seemed to understand though, helping when he sank down to the grass and brought his knees up to his chest, resting his head on his arm. Once again it felt like the world was slipping away, like he was on the deck of a swaying ship struggling to hold on.

Struggling to not be sick Harry focused on trying to breathe, conscious of how quickly his heart was racing, how weak and shaky he felt. He was safe there with Mr Weasley, appreciative when he felt the warmth of a blanket surrounding his shoulders, and though he tried to thank him the words just would not form in his mouth.

There was someone else with them now. Harry felt their presence but didn't open his eyes, not even when he felt their hands on him. They were touching him - his bandaged arm, his knee, but Harry didn't protest. Mr Weasley was there with him and Dumbledore was nearby, that was all he needed to know.

Someone was making him lift his head, and when he opened his eyes he felt groggy and disoriented, like all the strength and energy was being sapped from him. The person was talking to him, but he was too tired to listen...why wouldn't they let him sleep?

He was drinking something now. Something warm and syrupy that seemed to coat his throat when he swallowed, and he drank it down willingly. Just like the Salamander blood this potion was what his body craved, providing exactly what it needed. The churning sensation in his stomach began to settle down, as did his racing heart. This time when he opened his eyes again he could actually see, and he looked down at the glass bottle of bright gold potion.

'That's better,' said the stranger beside him. 'Have a little more. Try again, Harry.'

He tried to say something, but his words were slurring, and he did not sound like himself. Repeating the instruction the stranger brought the potion to his lips until he drank again. Wearing lime green robes they were crouched in front of him with an air of concern. But Harry didn't pay them much attention, it was the potion that held his interest. He wanted more of it, he _needed_ more, and at the stranger's prompt he willingly drank again.

Hagrid was nearby, towering over them and keeping other people away, while Mr Weasley was kneeling by Harry's other side. Elsewhere he could still hear the commotion going on, loud chatter and a flurry of activity. Someone was crying, a deep howl of grief. Harry registered it dimly, but it was like he was a spectator to these events, like he wasn't really there experiencing them. He didn't want to think about who that was crying...

'Is Sirius here?' He started looking around for the familiar face of his godfather. He needed to find him - to make sure he was alright.

'Who, Harry?' Mr Weasley urgently asked. 'Who?'

With a jolt he remembered Sirius's wanted status and shook his head, feigning confusion.

'Best not say anything else, alright?' Mr Weasley murmured in worry, pulling the blanket higher up over his shoulders. 'Wait for Dumbledore.'

The stranger and Mr Weasley were talking quietly again, but Harry didn't listen. Instead he looked down at himself, seeing his bandaged arm was now cradled against his chest by a sling. His right knee had been extended out in front of him, carefully bandaged beneath his school trousers which were torn open. A tingling sensation suggested that the bruises were being treated, and he resisted the impulse to reach down and touch it.

'How are you feeling, Harry?'

The stranger was talking to him, and it took a few moments to answer. He looked at them properly now, realising they were a Mediwizard on duty for the Tournament. 'Better,' he said honestly.

'I'd bet,' they said lightly, rummaging around in a large case that sat nearby. 'We'll see about getting you to the Hospital Wing.' He turned to Mr Weasley now. 'From there we can get him to St Mungos. They'll be waiting on him.'

'We'll need to clear that with Dumbledore,' Mr Weasley murmured anxiously, looking around. 'Harry needs to stay with him.'

'He needs a hospital, Arthur.'

Harry wanted to say something, to say he wasn't going anywhere without Dumbledore's say so, but instead he finished what remained of the potion. He felt rejuvenated, his head clear and his body energised. The pain of his injuries lingered, but he felt stronger now, ready to face whatever he had to endure next.

Thoughts clearer than they had been in days he allowed himself to think about what had just happened. He had escaped Voldemort...Cedric was dead…none of it seemed to really register.

Harry started to say something, trailing off awkwardly until he found the words. 'What day is it?'

'Sunday evening,' Mr Weasley answered quietly.

_Sunday_ , Harry murmured to himself, trying to comprehend it. He had the feeling that no more than one night had passed when he was held in that cellar, but to hear it put so plainly felt wrong. It felt like a lifetime had passed, not a single day.

There was shouting now, the sound of anger, but Harry didn't allow himself to listen. For a second time he looked up at the sky again, staring at the image of the Tri-Wizard Cup glimmering in the air. Why hadn't someone taken it down?

He didn't know for how long he had been permitted to rest. It might have been one minute that passed, it might have been ten, but finally he saw Dumbledore's silvery beard and purple robes emerge through the darkness. It was only a brief moment, but Dumbledore rested his hand on Harry's shoulder as he leant down to speak to him.

'Go to my office,' Dumbledore instructed, his steady voice a calming presence amongst the chaos. 'Mr Weasley will take you. Go now, Harry.'

As quickly as he arrived Dumbledore was gone. A little confused Harry looked over his shoulder to watch him go, catching a glimpse of him falling into step beside McGonagall before they disappeared into the night.

Mr Weasley was looking nervous again, on his feet as he looked around. His wand was drawn, and he spoke to Hagrid a few moments before hurriedly reaching down to help Harry to his feet.

'H-hold on Arthur,' the Mediwizard said hastily. 'Slowly now!'

Without a second thought Harry discarded the blanket and got to his feet, Mr Weasley helping him up. The Mediwizard fussed, hovering nearby as Harry took a moment to steady himself. With a few deep breaths he tentatively bore weight onto his right leg, relieved to find that the pain was quite bearable.

The potion and short rest had given him all he needed to carry on. He was standing now on his own two feet, and he wanted to move, to walk around and feel alive. Feeling immensely stronger than before he tolerated Mr Weasley's hand on the back of his shoulder and then began to walk, the two of them setting off as quickly as Harry could manage.

Now that he was up there were renewed murmurs and noise. People were trying to talk to him, tournament officials trying to rush over. Further in the distance he heard Fudge's harried voice calling out for him, demanding they speak. But Hagrid was in full swing now, his booming voice and grand stature keeping people well away.

'Arthur, if he can't go to St Mungos he at least needs the Hospital Wing,' the Mediwizard implored, following them. 'Not the Headmaster's office.'

'Harry is safest wherever Dumbledore wants him, I assure you.'

'Then let me escort you! If his blood pressure falls again he'll drop like a stone. Merlin,' they cursed when Mr Weasley disregarded the plea. 'Take some more potion then, won't you?'

While Mr Weasley and the Mediwizard talked Harry kept his eyes trained on the castle ahead, determined to make it there. Dumbledore had given him one thing to do, go to his office. Everything else was taken care of now. Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Cedric…Dumbledore would take care of it all, and Harry only needed to go to his office and wait.

Hogwarts glittered on the hill above them, the twinkling lights shining warmly, inviting him in.

With Mr Weasley keeping him going they reached the castle quickly, and though Hagrid and the Mediwizard had followed them this far they fell back at Mr Weasley's instruction. Harry should have been relieved to have made it there, his body was beginning to tire and his very bones ached. But upon their arrival dread filled him when he sensed the liveliness inside.

Judging by the time of night the rest of the school was probably at dinner, meaning the corridors would be teeming with students and teachers. Anticipating this problem Mr Weasley cleared his throat, properly putting his arm around Harry's shoulders once more.

'Just keep going,' he advised as they climbed the steps to the Entrance Hall. 'Not far now.'

It was as Harry dreaded. The doors to the Great Hall were wide open, the sounds of a somewhat subdued dinner very audible as they passed through the Entrance Hall and headed for the stairs. But they were barely halfway across when cheers erupted, those seated nearest the doors catching the first glimpse of their presumably triumphant champion's return.

Keeping his head down Harry tried not to hear them, but his stomach twisted horribly at the sound of their celebrations. They thought he was returning victorious, that his injuries were a result of the Third Task, not something more sinister. A few shouts rang out clearer than others, people calling out Harry's name, congratulating him.

'Where's Granger?' someone yelled out, voices emerging into the Entrance Hall behind them. 'Someone tell her.'

'Congratulations Harry! Well done!'

'Ron! Hey, Ron – he's back!'

It took everything he had to not break out into a run, only Mr Weasley's arm around his shoulder keeping him steady and in control. Together they walked a little faster as they reached the upstairs landing, but people followed them, and they encountered more in the halls. Harry kept his head down, not looking at a single person.

The cheers of congratulations continued, completely at odds with the reality of the situation Harry knew. Mr Weasley ushered him to keep going, reassuring him they were almost there. Together they turned another corner, and then Flitwick's voice rang out through the entire castle.

'All students are to return to their house common rooms, immediately. No exceptions.'

In the distance behind them Harry heard the sounds of the cheers abruptly die down, the whole student body realising at once that something was terribly wrong. Flitwick's instructions rang out a second time, instructing Prefects to supervise the movement of students, and then finally they had reached Dumbledore's office.

'Peppermint Toad,' Mr Weasley said to the gargoyle guarding the entrance.

Without hesitation the gargoyle stepped aside to admit them, the circular staircase taking them upwards to Dumbledore's office. When they stepped inside and closed the door Mr Weasley gave an audible sigh of relief, taking a moment to close his eyes and murmur something under his breath, an exaltation of relief that Harry was safe now.

Not quite ready to feel anything other than numbness Harry just stood there in the threshold and looked around. There hadn't been cause for him to visit more than a few times, but the grand circular room had a reassuring presence about it, for nothing had changed in the slightest since Harry's last visit. Most of the Headmasters portraits were awake and looking down at them in curiosity, whispering to one another, while elsewhere a few trinkets in Dumbledore's cabinets sparkled innocently, one giving a small puff of steam.

From somewhere overhead Harry heard the sound of hurried footsteps, someone running with great haste. By the time he had looked around for the source the sound had turned into the gentle click of claws on the stone floor, and from a concealed doorway emerged a shaggy black dog, the sight of which made Harry want to cry out.

He was elated to see him there, overwhelmed to see that he was alive and well. Malfoy and Voldemort's threats had only been empty, and Sirius had probably been safely here at Hogwarts the entire time, never in danger at all. In the back of his mind he was able to rationalise that he really didn't know Sirius all that well, they weren't yet particularly close, but that had never mattered less than it did right now.

Not paying attention to Mr Weasley's bewildered expression, nor the way he raised his wand in alarm to the black dog, Harry managed a few steps forward. Padfoot whined loudly, pawing anxiously at the floor until Harry sank onto one knee and let him come closer.

Padfoot nudged Harry's hand, whining again before nuzzling him in worry, providing the only comfort he could right now. Trembling in relief Harry put his arm around Padfoot, clenching a handful of unkempt fur as he closed his eyes and tried to hold back every rush of emotion that hit him.

It was everything he needed, and being safely ensconced in Professor Dumbledore's office with Mr Weasley and Sirius, he knew he could finally let his guard down. He was trembling as he knelt there with Padfoot, but he managed a small laugh of joy upon seeing his tail wagging uncontrollably.

With a long breath he let go of Padfoot and dragged himself back to his feet, sinking into the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk. Following him with another anxious whine Padfoot sat down at Harry's feet, guarding him as he warily looked at Mr Weasley.

Equally wary of the strange black dog that had befriended his young charge, Mr Weasley conjured another chair and sat down beside Harry. He tentatively reached out and touched his hand, the innocent gesture eliciting a warning growl from Padfoot. Not wanting the two warring against each other prematurely he nudged Padfoot to make him stop.

'Harry,' Mr Weasley said, touching his hand again. 'Some water?'

He shook his head, not wanting anything. But unhappy with that response Padfoot shuffled his paws in agitation, giving a short bark to express his disapproval. Mr Weasley chuckled under his breath now, warming to the canine.

'Yes, I quite agree,' he said lightly. He conjured a goblet of water. 'Come on now, Harry. Try just a little.'

This time he nodded. The water was cool and refreshing, and he drank it gratefully, taking as much as he could manage before setting it onto Dumbledore's desk.

Satisfied on that front, Mr Weasley rummaged through his pockets, taking out another bottle of the potion the Mediwizard had given him, and once again he didn't take no for an answer. Removing the stopper for him he pressed the bottle into Harry's hand, and he didn't need any encouragement. Just like before he drank down a generous mouthful of the thick potion, feeling its restorative effect throughout his body.

Leaving the rest Harry set the bottle on Dumbledore's desk and replaced the stopper, and then sank back into the chair. He allowed Mr Weasley to fuss over him a few moments more, but finally he seemed to come to the understanding that there was nothing more Harry needed. Instead he too settled back into his own chair, and with one last gesture he placed his hand atop Harry's, offering a small sense of comfort.

A much needed silence fell upon the room, broken only by an anxious whine from Padfoot who settled his head and paw on Harry's knee, keeping close to him. Harry wished he could just remain undisturbed, to be alone and fall into a deep sleep. But he forced himself to keep his eyes open, conscious that they were waiting for Dumbledore, wherever he was.

As they waited Harry tried to think things through, to start getting his thoughts and memories in order, for he knew Dumbledore would make him recount the events. There must be a reason he had been sent to his office and not the Hospital Wing, a reason beyond his immediate short term safety.

Finally Dumbledore arrived, but Harry did not get up, did not even lift his head or turn his gaze. He remained exactly as he was, sitting peacefully with Padfoot's head and paw resting on his lap. He had been absentmindedly stroking his fur, patting his head just like he had the last time they said goodbye at Hogsmeade. Neither Padfoot nor Mr Weasley had left his immediate side the entire time they had been waiting.

Mr Weasley stood up when Dumbledore entered, greeting him in relief. They talked in hushed tones, but Harry could hear everything.

'He's not said much at all. I think he must be in shock.'

'Thank you, Arthur,' Dumbledore said in reply, his voice heavy with the burden of the last twenty four hours. 'Your actions tonight, staying by Harry's side…you might have saved his life.'

'What…saved his life?' Mr Weasley stammered, becoming silent a few moments later as the pieces fell into place. 'Not Alastor, surely.'

'Yes, but that was not the Alastor we know. For now Arthur, I ask that you please go down to Alastor's office. Minerva is there, she will explain everything. I must speak with Harry alone.'

Mr Weasley's hesitation was clear. Despite Dumbledore himself asking him to go, he was reluctant to leave Harry's side, and amongst all the confusing thoughts and memories, that penetrated. He recalled from listening to the radio earlier that the Weasley's hadn't left the castle since he disappeared. Bracing himself he turned around in the chair, looking to Mr Weasley who was still hesitating.

'I'm alright,' he assured him, wanting him to know it was okay to leave. 'Thank you.'

Mr Weasley paused a moment longer, he too bracing himself before returning to Harry's side. He seemed to be searching for something to say, seeking the right combination of words to express whatever he was thinking, but words failed him. Though he started to say something he trailed off with a long sigh, looking at Harry apologetically.

'Molly's around,' he finally said, clasping him on the shoulder. 'I've no doubt we'll both see you again very shortly.'

Leaving things at that Mr Weasley departed, following Dumbledore's instructions, and then Harry sank back into the chair. Though he had been waiting for Dumbledore's return, now that he was there he wished he would leave again, that some great emergency would summon him away.

The moment the door closed and the stone staircase started to move Sirius transformed back into himself. To Harry's relief no barrage of questions was launched at him. Instead Sirius stayed exactly where he knelt, and he simply reached out and grasped his hand in his.

'Harry?' he said quietly, looking up and reaching to touch his face, wanting his attention. 'Harry, look at me. Harry?'

But Harry refused, suddenly overcome with shame the moment Sirius transformed back into himself. He was reminded horribly of what he had done that day, his attack on Malfoy and Carrow, the danger it had put Sirius in.

_Putting Sirius Black's head there on a pike will be my tribute to you after I've killed him._

The shame was overwhelming, and Sirius had no idea what Harry had done to endanger him. And now Dumbledore was there, ready to make Harry admit everything. Admit he had been given a chance to escape and had failed, admit he had promised to obey Voldemort…

He couldn't look at him, convinced Sirius would hate him if he knew the truth. Without warning the gravity of what had happened hit him, and the calm state of mind he had so recently occupied began to falter.

When he refused to meet his eye Sirius took matters into his own hands, and as if it was something he had done a million times before he pulled Harry into a hug. He had no memory of ever being hugged like that, as though by a parent, and it was this thought that broke him, because he'd thought of his mother and father more now than he ever had in his life.

The full weight of everything he had been through seemed to fall upon him as Sirius held him. Despising how foolish it made him feel in light of the things he had done Harry tried to hold the emotion back, but he couldn't. The emotion welled up until he began to cry, while Sirius's response was to tighten his embrace, holding him even more closely and telling him that it was going to be alright.

'I'm sorry,' he shuddered, whispering his apology against Sirius's shoulder. 'I'm so sorry.'

He could feel Sirius's confused reaction, the way he lifted his head and tried to look at him. 'What are you sorry for?' he asked, admonishing him. 'There's nothing to be sorry about. Nothing.'

Harry could barely explain, his chest and throat too tight with emotion. 'Malfoy - he was going to kill you, and I…' he trailed off, trying to explain himself. 'I didn't mean to do it.'

'I know what happened,' Sirius assured him. 'I know, and it wasn't your fault.'

'He would have killed you.'

Sirius just looked at him, devastation and worry written across his face, and he seemed as pale and gaunt as when he had escaped Azkaban. Shakily he reached up to Harry's face, pushing his fringe off his forehead and making Harry look him in the eye.

'You survived,' he said vehemently, holding Harry's gaze as he spoke. 'Whatever happened, whatever you did, you survived.'

Harry nodded, finding some comfort in those words. That was the reason behind every time he had surrendered, every answer he gave in Voldemort's interrogation. Every promise to obey. He absolutely had to survive.

'You survived,' Sirius repeated. 'Nothing else matters.'

Without wasting another moment he pulled Harry back into another hug, and this time it felt different. They weren't united in fear or sadness, but in finding comfort with one another, no matter what had happened. With his eyes closed Harry focused on trying to collect himself, wishing that Sirius would never let him go.

When he inevitably did Sirius again brushed his hand over Harry's fringe, looking at him in worry. Fussing now he wiped his thumbs over Harry's wet cheeks, murmuring to him quietly before taking the goblet of water and pressing it into his hands. At Sirius's encouragement Harry drank a little more, and then Sirius looked away, turning his attention to Dumbledore.

Harry too turned his attention to Dumbledore, startled to find his Headmaster was also crying. He sat slumped in his grand chair on the other side of the desk, eyes glistening as he looked at his fingers, the tips of which were touching one another as he studied them. Feeling their gaze upon him Dumbledore looked up, and then visibly braced himself.

'Harry, I have failed you most terribly this year,' he began gravely, sitting up straight as he addressed him. 'My failure is what put you in the danger you have just survived. There was an imposter in our midst. An imposter I had entrusted specifically to look out for you…to be your protector.'

'Professor Moody?'

'That was not Alastor Moody. You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he tried to take you, I knew – and I followed.'

'Take him?' Sirius said in alarm, standing up.

Dumbledore nodded, gesturing to the vacant seat beside Harry. When Sirius sat down Dumbledore began to explain everything that had played out that evening, and though it was information he too needed to know, Harry was only half listening. Now so tired every bone in his body was aching, he wanted nothing more than to sit there, undisturbed, for hours and hours. The news of Barty Crouch Junior's confession struck a chord with him, many instances from the last year falling into place and beginning to make sense now.

'That brings us to tonight,' Dumbledore said heavily, looking particularly old and weary. He looked Harry in the eye now, holding his gaze. 'Harry, I owe you further explanation. Explanation as to how you came to be freed…and who was responsible for making that happen.'

Beside him Sirius gave a low scoff, one that made Harry look around in surprise. His expression had soured greatly, though he quickly tried to hide it when he noticed Harry's attention.

'It was Snape who let me go,' Harry stated. 'He said Voldemort was showing me his mercy.'

Dumbledore nodded gravely, bracing himself before he spoke again. 'Harry. Professor Snape is the reason you're free.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter - next chapter is more on what happened behind the scenes for the last twenty four hours, and Snape's involvement.
> 
> As for Crouch, I see it that Voldemort didn't warned him he changed his mind about killing Harry, which is why Crouch still tried to take him and then blew his cover. If Voldemort wants to remain hidden while he gains strength then he needs an explanation for Harry's absence and Cedric's death, and Crouch is perfectly positioned as a convenient scapegoat (even if Dumbledore sees right through it).
> 
> Let me know if you liked the chapter, and what you'd love to see next! (I'm written up to chapter 46, but it's nice to know what you guys are interested in!)


	11. Chapter 11 - Snape's Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 - Snape's Task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in a previous chapter I sometimes sample snippets/lines from JKR. Some of it is just perfect as is, and there’s no benefit to rewriting these bits when they’re already just right.

'That brings us to tonight,' Dumbledore said heavily, looking particularly old and weary. He looked Harry in the eye now, holding his gaze. 'Harry, I owe you further explanation. Explanation as to how you came to be freed…and who was responsible for making that happen.'

Beside him Sirius gave a low scoff, one that made Harry look around in surprise. His expression had soured greatly, though he quickly tried to hide it when he noticed Harry's attention.

'It was Snape who let me go,' Harry stated. 'He said Voldemort was showing me his mercy.'

Dumbledore nodded gravely, bracing himself before he spoke again. 'Harry. Professor Snape is the reason you're free.'

Harry frowned, not understanding what Dumbledore had said. 'Snape was there,' he said vehemently. 'He was there when Malfoy was trying to attack me,' he explained, not caring that they had no context of that situation. 'He was encouraging them.'

Dumbledore shook his head. 'I assure you Harry, Professor Snape was not encouraging them. Please, allow me to explain.'

Harry turned back to Sirius and looked at him expectantly. He had scoffed before, presumably about Snape. But Sirius looked at him apologetically and nodded his head. The message was clear. Hear Dumbledore out.

'When you and Cedric first disappeared, I admit I was not alarmed. It's not unusual for the Triwizard Tournament to feature twists and surprises, but it soon became apparent from Mr Bagman that the disappearance of the champion was not planned. As I'm sure you can appreciate, there was a great sense of confusion as word began to spread that you and Cedric were missing.

'For a time we waited, and a short while later Professor Snape came to me in confidence. He told me the Dark Mark on his arm, one that had been steadily returning over the course of a year, had burned. Someone was summoning Death Eaters.

'As soon as was manageable, I dispatched Professor Snape to follow the summons of the Dark Mark. He did not return until the middle of the night, and he brought with him the gravest of news.

'Lord Voldemort had returned, and Cedric Diggory was murdered. And after you fought back against him Lord Voldemort decided to imprison you rather than kill you. Professor Snape told me that you would soon be interrogated by Voldemort, and that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.'

Dumbledore paused before continuing, and he gestured to Sirius as he resumed. 'Sirius, Professor Snape and I discussed many options, and found we were aligned in thinking. Our sole priority was to ensure your safe return, at any cost.

'I instructed Professor Snape to facilitate your rescue, even if it came at the expense of revealing his status as a double agent. Even at the expense of his own life, and he agreed. But following your interrogation and admirable display of wandless magic, Professor Snape recognised an opportunity. You see Harry, Lord Voldemort by nature is rarely impulsive, and his imprisonment of you was not planned. Once he had interrogated you and learned you had no information of significance, Lord Voldemort wasn't sure what to do with you.'

Nodding in agreement, Harry swallowed heavily. It was painful to hear this side of the story recounted so plainly, as if what had happened was as simple as Dumbledore made it sound. His mind was racing, trying to align the Snape he had encountered with the one he was hearing about…one who was supposedly responsible for his rescue.

'What Voldemort hadn't been expecting of course, was your nature. Your response to intense pressure and unintentional use of wandless magic. I hazard to say it might have even frightened him. By Professor Snape's recount it frightened the Death Eaters. After the incident a number of them declined Lucius Malfoy's orders to torture you. They feared how you might respond in defence of yourself, which is why they employed the use of a Dementor to weaken you.

'It was here that the opportunity lay. Through careful suggestion, Professor Snape planted in Voldemort the idea of letting you go free. There was reason to fear you after all, and the possibility that upon your return to my stewardship at Hogwarts you might come to learn something of value to Voldemort.'

It took Harry a few moments to comprehend this statement, to realise what Dumbledore was getting at. He turned to Sirius for clarification, hoping that he was wrong. But Sirius just looked at him apologetically, hastening to explain.

'Voldemort let you go free in the hope that you might learn something useful in the future. Something he might be able to get out of you.'

A little perturbed by that notion, Harry looked away, staring into the far corner of Dumbledore's office. They had all but invited Voldemort to imprison him again in the future…what happened to him would be repeated one day. He would have to go through it all again.

'Harry, what happened last night will never happen again,' Sirius implored, knowing what Harry was thinking. 'We're prepared now. We know what to expect.'

Dumbledore seemed to be in complete agreement. 'Our one and only goal, was to save your life _now_ ,' Dumbledore repeated. 'Once the idea was planted, Professor Snape let Voldemort dwell on it for some time, allowing him to reach the decision himself without making it seem he was too eager to see your freedom. After consideration Voldemort agreed to the new plan, and instructed Professor Snape to facilitate your return to Hogwarts. I believe that he was the only Death Eater who would willingly approach you after your display of wandless magic. It was after all, in his very words, an admirable feat.'

A brief period of silence came to pass now, Harry still looking into the far corner of Dumbledore's office as he tried to take in the revelations. He had listened and understood every word, he was completely up to speed on Crouch, Moody, Voldemort and Snape…yet he remained numb to it, unable to appreciate its true meaning.

Conscious that Dumbledore was looking at him intently, Harry continued to avoid his eyes. Dumbledore was going to question him now, was going to make him relive it all.

'I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry.'

'We can leave that 'till morning, can't we, Dumbledore? said Sirius harshly. He had put his hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Let him have a sleep. Let him rest.'

Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Sirius, but Dumbledore took no notice of Sirius' words. He leant forward towards Harry. Very unwillingly Harry raised his head and looked into those blue eyes.

'Snape can tell you,' he said quietly. 'He was there.'

'Professor Snape was witness only to the events for which he was present. Your perspective Harry, your experiences…they are of great importance.'

He hesitated a moment more, the weight of Sirius' hand on his shoulder making him long for the opportunity to lay down and rest his eyes, to fall into a deep sleep where he didn't have to face any of this ever again.

'If I thought I could help you,' Dumbledore said gently, 'by putting you into an enchanted sleep, and allowing you to postpone the moment you would have to think about what has happened, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will only make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.'

Seeing no alternative, Harry took a deep breath and began to tell them. Once or twice Sirius made a noise as though about to say something, his hand still tight on Harry's shoulder, but Dumbledore raised his hand to stop him, and Harry was glad of this, because it was easier to keep going now he had started.

It was even a relief; he felt almost as though something poisonous was being extracted from him; it was costing him every bit of determination he had to keep talking, yet he sensed that once he had finished, he would feel better.

He talked for what felt like hours, keeping the more difficult passages short and factual. He told them everything he remembered and left nothing out, not the questions Voldemort had asked of him, not even the peculiar way they tortured him with the Cruciatus, increasing the pain more and more until he broke down and begged them to stop.

When he reached the topic of Malfoy's threat of what he would do to Sirius, Harry found he almost couldn't continue. The shame washed over him yet again, and he looked into his lap as his eyes burned, tears welling up again. It was only Sirius's unwavering insistence that it wasn't his fault that encouraged him to keep going, his reassurance that he had never been in danger at all.

'I don't know how it happened,' Harry continued heavily, picking up where he left off. 'One minute he was talking about Sirius, and then I…I was angry. I don't know what I was thinking. Next thing I knew I had Malfoy's wand. I started fighting them.'

He trailed off, the chaotic scenes flashing before his mind's eye, reminding him of how he had immediately surrendered, how it had been the right thing to do.

'They took me upstairs. Snape took me upstairs,' he reiterated, remembering this too. 'Malfoy tried to go at me again, they all did, but I think I cast a shield charm. They couldn't get to me, their curses rebounded.' He let his thoughts linger for a moment, connecting a few dots. 'Snape was helping me. Wasn't he?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'He was strengthening your shield charm. He ensured it was strong enough to protect you.'

Feeling Sirius' hand tighten on his, Harry nodded, understanding now. 'I could see him talking. I thought he was encouraging them. Telling them what to do. But he was helping me.'

Nearing the end of his testimony, Harry pushed onward to the conclusion, recounting how Snape had used the Dementor to weaken him enough that he could restrain him. He described the bedroom he awoke in, recounting the visit Voldemort and the Death Eater had paid to him, the final blows of senseless torture he had suffered.

In the back of his mind lingered a distant thought, a connection he had yet to make and understand…but he quickly moved on. Something told him he didn't want to make that connection just yet.

'Is Snape here?'

'Yes. Leading a double life requires him to be here, fulfilling his role of Potions teacher. When you're ready to, I can permit you to speak with him.'

'No,' Harry said abruptly. His mind now felt numb, slow and sluggish with exhaustion, but he knew already that he never wanted to face Snape again. Never.

Understanding, Dumbledore did not push the subject.

'I will say it again,' said Dumbledore, looking Harry in the eye. 'You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it – and you have now given us all that we have a right to expect. The pride I feel for you Harry, is unparalleled by anyone.'

Harry just numbly nodded his head, conscious that right now he couldn't possibly appreciate the gravity of what Dumbledore had just said. 'Can I go, Professor?'

'Yes. You will come with me to the Hospital Wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace. Sirius, would you like to stay with him?'

Sirius nodded, getting to his feet and waiting for Harry to join him. Grateful that finally he would be permitted to rest, Harry followed as Dumbledore accompanied them through the empty school corridors. Away from the privacy of the Headmaster's office Sirius had transformed into Padfoot, walking so close by Harry's side that he almost stepped on his paw more than once.

They soon entered the Hospital Wing and found the expected group of people waiting for him. Ron and Hermione were sitting side by side on one of the couches, Hermione's head resting on Ron's shoulder while she slept, whereas Mrs Weasley and Bill seemed too agitated to sit, and were standing by the doors to the ward.

The moment Harry stepped foot inside Mrs Weasley whipped around, letting out a kind of muffled scream. 'Harry! Oh, Harry!'

She started to hurry towards him, Ron and Hermione rousing with a start, but Dumbledore moved between them. Without wasting words he succinctly explained the situation, informing them all they could not be permitted to question Harry tonight, but they could stay if Harry wished.

Not that he wanted them to leave, Harry avoided having to look at them, unable to share their relief and joy. Instead he turned to Madam Pomfrey who was hastening towards him. So appalled at the state of him she had yet to question the presence of Padfoot, who still remained by Harry's side as if held there by a magnet, following as he was shown into the ward and towards a bed.

Harry sat in silence as he let Madam Pomfrey attend to the injuries of immediate concern, the open gash on his arm. She removed the sling and bandages the Mediwizard had put on and then with her wand began siphoning away the dried blood in order to examine the wounds, apologising when he flinched.

The curtains rustled as Mrs Weasley quietly slipped inside, joining them. Though he registered her arrival he didn't look up. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, to see her worry and concern. She patted his other hand and then grasped it within hers, talking quietly as she spoke of how worried they'd been for him, how glad they were that he was safe. He listened absently, but said nothing in return.

With great care Madam Pomfrey was healing the wounds across the back of his hand. As she worked she cast disapproving glances at Padfoot who sat by Harry's feet, as did Mrs Weasley, but neither of them openly questioned the presence of the unkempt dog who refused to leave Harry's side.

Pomfrey spent longer than necessary looking into his eyes, tsking to herself and making a few comments that sounded reassuring…but still he wasn't really listening, rather his mind was comfortably blank and empty. He thought of nothing and no one, the change of pace allowing him to rest his mind. It was almost time to sleep, and that's all he wanted.

'Drink up,' Promfrey instructed, setting out the remainder of the gold potion he hadn't finished. 'You'll feel better.'

Knowing first hand that he would he willingly finished the potion, meeting the approval of both Mrs Weasley and Madam Pomfrey. Almost finished with him now she healed the cut in the crook of his arm where Wormtail had taken his blood, and finally she turned her concern to his left leg. She studied it in confusion, examining the tear in the leg of his trouser, and then Harry remembered the Acromantula bite.

'It's okay,' he said awkwardly, having to stop himself from saying _Voldemort healed it for me_. 'It's not hurt.'

'Well, you're in no immediate danger,' she mused, examining him as a whole by casting a critical eye up and down him. 'Would you like to go to sleep, or try something to eat?'

Surprised she was giving him the choice, Harry answered before she could change her mind. 'Sleep,' he said promptly. 'But first, can I…' he began, trailing off as he looked for the right words. 'Can I clean up a little?'

'Yes, I suppose that's alright,' she agreed, summoning over some clean pyjamas and a towel. 'You know where the bathroom is.'

Knowing all too well thanks to his various stays in this ward Harry made his way over to the bathrooms, still making a point of not looking at Mrs Weasley. At the bathroom door Padfoot tried to follow him inside, but Harry shook his head in exasperation. He received a rather reproachful look, which was no simple feat for a dog, but Harry stood his ground as he ushered Padfoot out and closed the door on him.

Harry stood there behind the closed door, using his wand to turn the lock to guarantee privacy. Stuck outside Padfoot gave a disapproving whine, and he watched the shadows beneath the door, and then he sat down against the door as if standing guard.

When he set about cleaning himself up Harry avoided his reflection in the mirror, ignoring its remark about his poorly appearance. Instead he leant over the sink and turned on the tap. He was too tired to shower, worried that the steaming hot water would only make it harder to keep his eyes open, so he opted for the cold water of the sink instead.

Removing his ruined school shirt and tossing it aside Harry cleaned himself up as best he could manage, feeling relieved at the sight of the dirty water that rushed down the sink. Overall he figured he was more dirty than injured, the cellar they had kept him in heavy with dust.

When he washed his face he could feel the dirt and sweat washing away from his skin, and he used his fingernails to scrape off what felt like flecks of dried blood. Confident that his face must be clean he splashed some water over his neck and shoulders before permitting himself to look in the mirror.

All in all he didn't look as bad as he thought he might. His face was not particularly worse than it had been when he looked in the bedroom of Malfoy Manor, though a green bruise had developed in the corner of his mouth, and a small but newly healed cut on his cheek that had left a scar. Overall he supposed he just looked tired, and aside from the blood in his eye he really looked fine…it was reassuring.

In the privacy of the bathroom he spent a little more time looking himself over, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Various scratched and bruises were not unexpected, but it was the faint pink marks all over his skin that perturbed him, not understanding their source. They were mostly faint but tender to the touch, and they were all over his face and chest…it took further investigation before he realised what they were, a sudden flashback startling him with its vividness.

He had done this to himself. In the throes of the Cruciatus he remembered clawing at his own body like a wild animal, trying to tear his own skin off. He had scratched himself all over, attacking himself so violently that he had even drawn blood in places. Looking at his fingers he studied the one with a torn nail, cringing at the black discolouration of the nail bed. The flashback to those moments left him shaken and unsteady, and so he hurriedly resumed getting himself cleaned up.

As he changed into the pyjamas he worriedly looked at the bathroom door, dreading the prospect that he had to go out there again, that he had to face everyone. They wouldn't ask questions, Dumbledore had made sure of that, but the questions would be there nonetheless, lingering in the space between them, unasked and unsatisfied.

Before he went out he rehearsed what he would say to them, repeating the words in his head. _I'm alright. I'm just tired._ That's all he needed to say.

When he came out Padfoot was still waiting for him, and he fell back into step by his side as he returned to the ward where he would be allowed to sleep. Waiting for him beside the bed was Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron and Hermione, while Dumbledore stood a little further away, speaking quietly with Madam Pomfrey. However the moment Harry emerged he turned his attention back to him, giving him an approving nod before joining him.

'I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge,' said Dumbledore. 'Other than our immediate company, I must ask that you not speak to anyone about what happened unless you are with me. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Goodnight then. Sleep well.'

Dumbledore left without another word, and Harry watched him go. It felt strange to let him depart, almost as if he was going too soon, like there was more for them to talk about. Looking back to the ward Harry caught sight of the real Moody laying motionless at the far end, mostly hidden by the curtains pulled around his bed.

'Is he okay?' Harry asked.

'He'll be fine,' said Madam Pomfrey, ushering him towards his assigned bed.

Unable to avoid it Harry faced the Weasleys and Hermione, hating the way his friends looked at him almost cautiously, as though scared of him. He hastened to deliver the words he had rehearsed in the bathroom, needing to break the silence.

'I'm all right,' he told them. 'Just tired.'

'Well then, let's get you straight off to bed,' Mrs Weasley implored.

Finally, Harry sank into the bed and got comfortable, while Madam Pomfrey dispensed what he needed most, a goblet full of purple potion for dreamless sleep. 'You'll need to drink all of this, Harry.'

He took the goblet and began to drink gratefully. In his peripheral vision he watched as Padfoot leapt up onto the end of the bed and settled himself in the space by Harry's feet, and he noticed the wide eyed reproachful look Mrs Weasley gave him. It made him start to smile, but very quickly he felt himself becoming drowsy.

'Drink up,' Mrs Weasley encouraged, smoothing out the bedcovers.

Managing another mouthful Harry reached down and ran his hand over Padfoot's head, but his touch was clumsy now. The goblet began to slip from his fingers before someone took it from him, Mrs Weasley telling him to lay down now, to go to sleep. Everything around him was hazy, and his body felt as though it was sinking deeper into the warmth of the feather mattress.

Before he could finish the Potion, before he could murmur a word of thanks to anyone present, his exhaustion had carried him off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of the explanation and wrap up? Thanks to all the readers who are able to drop a review, hope you all enjoyed :-)


	12. Chapter 12 - The Hospital Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 - The Hospital Wing

When Harry awoke he felt so warm and comfortable that he didn't open his eyes, wanting to drift off again. Nearby someone was snoring softly, sounding peaceful and content, and for a while Harry simply lay there listening. He relished in the easy tranquillity that came with the limbo between awake and sleeping, and he would have been content to sleep all day.

But slowly it all crept back in…he remembered.

Harry cracked his eyes open a fraction, seeing daylight in the hospital wing, but he felt like it was still early. As his eyes adjusted to the morning light he felt his thoughts coming together. Understandably there was a great deal that came to mind, worries and anxieties about the day ahead, but for now they simply lingered in the back of his mind while he rested. He didn't need to deal with any of that just yet…Dumbledore had everything under control.

He lay there awake for some time, not allowing himself to look around or to dwell too much on what he knew he must face. Eventually though he gave a long sigh, raising a heavy hand to rub his eyes before turning his head.

Sitting nearby in a comfortable armchair was Mrs Weasley, her head tipped back while she softly snored. Draped over her was one of the crocheted blankets he recognised from The Burrow, and he briefly wondered who had brought that for her, if perhaps Mr Weasley…

For a time Harry simply watched her sleeping, taking a few minutes to really register that she was there. It was a comfort seeing her familiar face close by, suspecting that she must have spent the night at his bedside. He was touched by her dedication to him, for he was not her son – not really. But she had come to see him in the Third Task, and she had stayed all through the terrible day and night that followed.

Slowly he sat up in the bed, and though his body ached it was not nearly as bad as it felt the night before. Still rubbing his eyes he took his glasses from the bedside cabinet and put them on, though he was unable to see much with the curtains drawn round his bed, and he could only see the wall directly opposite. Enjoying the peacefulness he listened for the sound of someone else around, but there was nothing. They were completely alone.

On the bedside cabinet were his wand and a jug of water. Keeping his wand close by he poured himself a goblet of water and quenched his thirst, allowing his mind to go back to the events of the previous night. Fudge and McGonagall had entered the hospital wing in the midst of a screaming match, one that roused Harry enough that he didn't miss a moment of the subsequent fall out.

Fudge's sheer refusal to believe what had happened was disheartening, the Minister for Magic ignoring the evidence presented to him. And the Dementor he had brought with him, it that had immediately kissed Barty Crouch and robbed them all of his testimony. Voldemort really had planned it perfectly. Unaware that he had been set free, Crouch's attempt to take him led to his cover being blown, setting him up to take the fall - in the eyes of some at least.

It was all infuriating to watch Voldemort's plan beginning to play out, but at the same time Harry found it easy to let go of. This too was Dumbledore's problem now, and there was no doubt in his mind that Dumbledore would make Fudge come around. Harry had done enough…that wasn't for him to deal with.

Looking to the end of the bed he was disappointed to see it vacant, but not surprised. Sirius had been there with him last night, had asked Dumbledore to give him just a little more time before he had to go. After the incident with Fudge he had come to Harry's bedside and passed him the remainder of the sleeping potion, telling him to drink it, promising that he could stay a little longer. When Harry acquiesced he had transformed again and resumed his place by Harry's feet, ignoring Mrs Weasley's highly distrustful stare. Despite Dumbledore's assurances it seemed Sirius would have a way to go before earning Mrs Weasley's trust.

_'You'll see me very soon, Harry. I promise you.'_

_Harry had tried to respond, but he was too groggy, so tired from the sleeping potion he couldn't even open his eyes. But he had to…he needed to say goodbye. He parted his lips, but all he managed was a small sigh. There was a hand on his, lingering before he felt something brush against his forehead - a kiss goodbye. The hand grasping his disappeared, and Sirius was gone._

A few strands of black fur were left, and when Harry touched the bedcovers he found them cold. Sirius had been gone for hours, and though Harry's heart had sunk, he understood. Dumbledore needed him right now. For that matter so too did Harry, he wanted Sirius nearby…but Dumbledore _needed_ him.

Looking further around he saw something new from last night, his schoolbag sitting on one of the chairs. Hoping he would find some clean clothing he coaxed himself out of bed, braced for the pain he would feel when he stood up. But to his immense relief he felt only a little discomfort.

Standing up now he pulled up the leg of his pyjama pants and looked at his knee, cringing at the sight of the dark bruise that extended halfway down his shin. It was tender to the touch, but at the very least he could bear weight on it, a remarkable improvement. Now that he was standing he did begin to feel a few aches and pains, little flickers to remind him of what had happened….the Cruciatus, the beating he took, the bumps and scrapes.

Creeping around so as to not wake Mrs Weasley, he picked up his schoolbag, relieved to find the clean clothing he had been hoping for. But underneath his clothing was something that made his heart jolt. The silky fabric of his Invisibility Cloak was reassuring to have back in his possession, but it was the Marauders Map that surprised him.

Professor Moody's imposter had borrowed this from him months ago, and following the events of last night and the discovery of the imposter, it had been returned to him. Harry rifled through the rest of his schoolbag as if expecting to find a note, wondering who had returned it. Dumbledore surely was too busy to worry about such trivial things as Harry's rightful belongings, but given the map was accompanied by his Invisibility Cloak he suspected it must be Dumbledore's doing.

The sound of his school bag zipper had roused Mrs Weasley, and she was blinking quickly as she woke. Her eyes went straight to the bed, and they widened in a brief moment of alarm until she noticed Harry nearby, safe and sound. She visibly relaxed now, giving him a sleepy smile as she rubbed her eyes.

'Good morning,' he said to her softly, speaking first. It was the first time he had really spoken to her, the first time he had even looked her in the eye.

'Good morning, dear,' she replied kindly, sitting up and putting aside her blanket. 'Did you sleep well?'

He nodded, giving a murmur of affirmation.

Mrs Weasley seemed a little hesitant at first, but then she stood up from the chair and busied herself with looking after him. 'How are you feeling?'

Harry considered her question for a moment, watching as she began to straighten the bed covers and plump his pillow. 'I'm feeling okay,' he answered honestly. 'A bit more like myself again.'

These words brought her some visible relief, and now her warm smile didn't seem as strained as it had before. 'That's good, dear. That's good.'

'I'm going to take a shower,' he told her, collecting his clothing and bracing himself for her to try and stop him.

He worried that she would insist he go back to bed just like Madam Pomfrey would have. But to his surprise she agreed with him, thinking out loud that a nice, hot shower would do him some good.

'I'll arrange some breakfast for you,' she offered. 'What will it be?'

'Just toast, please,' he requested, knowing that declining to eat would not be tolerated.

He stepped outside of the curtains, leaving Mrs Weasley to freely fuss about. Outside in the ward his feeling from earlier was proven correct, he was the only person there now. The bed in which the real Alastor Moody had laid last night was empty now, and when he looked at it Harry had a vague recollection of his departure just before dawn. Moody had been pushed out in a wheelchair by a witch…a witch with bright pink hair.

At this thought Harry shook his head to himself, wondering if he had been seeing things as he roused. Thinking about Moody now he started to feel cheated and stupid. The Moody he had come to know and like had been an imposter, the very Death Eater who had sent Harry to that graveyard to make Voldemort's return happen.

The logical voices in his mind told him that it was understandable he would be easily duped. He had never known the real Moody prior, and those like Dumbledore had been equally duped too. But still, the thought of what might have happened to him last night, had Mr Weasley not stepped in when the imposter tried to take him.

Hearing noises coming from Madam Pomfrey's office Harry hastened into the bathroom to shower, pausing again to observe his features in the mirror. He looked a little more rested now, but it was a small improvement. It was obvious that something had happened, but it wasn't as though he'd been three rounds against Dudley. Aside from the blood in his right eye, on the whole he still looked like himself.

In the solitude of the bathroom Harry gratefully showered, letting the hot water soothe his body, soap washing away the rest of the grime he hadn't reached last night. While he cleaned himself up he thought back to Malfoy Manor, recalling the clean clothes and plush towel that had been provided for him, an invitation to make himself at home that he had declined.

The memories began to rush back faster than he was ready for, his heart quickening. As quickly as he could Harry stopped himself thinking about any of it.

Last night he had felt so numb, save for a few moments when things hit him unexpectedly. But today he had woken up feeling peaceful, like himself again…why couldn't he hold onto that feeling? Why wouldn't he keep feeling like himself?

When he dressed and came out Madam Pomfrey was waiting for him, the curtains drawn back around the bed which was now neatly made. Waiting on the tray at the end of the bed was a plate of food, much more than the simple toast Harry had requested, though he would not have expected any different from Mrs Weasley.

'You should have waited to see me,' Pomfrey scolded him, ushering him to get back onto the bed.

'I'm okay,' he insisted, looking to Mrs Weasley for support. 'Actually, I was thinking I'd head off. I want to go back to Gryffindor tower.'

Madam Pomfrey scoffed in disagreement. 'I don't think so. Go on now, have a little to eat.'

Not pushing the subject right now, Harry wasn't concerned about the refusal. He was leaving whether they liked it or not. It would take Dumbledore himself to come down here and make him stay, and he didn't see Dumbledore anywhere around. Nevertheless he knew he had to meet them halfway. Aggravating Madam Pomfrey didn't bother him so much, but he didn't want to upset Mrs Weasley.

Eating the toast felt like chewing carpet, and it sat in his stomach like a hard lump, yet he persisted for Mrs Weasley's sake, even eating some chocolate at her request. Meanwhile Madam Pomfrey was bustling around with a trolley of supplies.

'I had to send Ron and Hermione back to the dormitory,' Mrs Weasley apologised, pouring him some tea. 'They didn't go without a fight, but after what happened with that _thing_ ,' she said in disdain. 'Well, Professor McGonagall wanted to know where all her students were. She seemed to think they were in the habit of wandering off wherever they pleased.'

Harry could hear the hint of a knowing smile in her voice, but it was difficult to share her mirth. 'Have they been okay?'

Mrs Weasley grimaced, perhaps wondering how to answer. 'We hadn't a clue what was going on until we heard you were back. They were quite upset. We all were.'

Understanding, Harry just nodded his head and turned back to his breakfast, forcing himself to keep eating though he wasn't particularly hungry. He should have been shovelling it down like Ron at Sunday breakfast, he hadn't eaten a thing since before the Third Task. But though he could stomach it, the food held little appeal to him.

'Professor Dumbledore stopped by during the night. He stayed a little while, had a rest in the armchair. But then he left with…with your friend.'

There was no need to ask to who she was referring, the tone of her voice said it all. Harry thought about last night, the way Sirius had been there for him at every turn, had held him and comforted him, told him none of it was his fault. _Whatever happened, whatever you did, you survived._

'Don't judge Sirius too harshly,' he asked of her, knowing it was only rooted in her concern for him. 'He's been good to me.'

Mrs Weasley still looked at him reproachfully, giving him a raised eyebrow normally reserved for Fred and George. And then she took a deep breath and cleared her throat, reaching up and trying to flatten his hair.

'Well, I suppose that's what matters.' She didn't sound entirely convinced.

They fell silent when Pomfrey returned to his bedside, requesting his arm and then beginning to dab at the scars with Dittany. As she worked she intermittently glanced up at him, studying him intensely, but Harry was not perturbed. He knew what she was doing, that she was trying to decide between forcing him to stay, and releasing him from her care before she was ready to.

'I'd much rather you stay,' she began shortly, winding a loose bandage from his elbow to fingers. 'But if you're determined to go, -'

'I am.'

' - I shall have to alert the Headmaster. He might not approve.'

'He'll be able to find me.'

'You're going to have to take care of yourself if I discharge you,' Madam Pomfrey started to explain, setting some things out on the table beside his breakfast. 'Potion for the pain. You'll need to take a dose every six hours until you're feeling well. I'm afraid with the Cruciatus…sometimes it can take a day or so. The potion will help. You'll take it?'

Assuring her he would Harry tried not to look at Mrs Weasley, conscious that she was observing every moment, every comment. He wondered how much she knew about what had happened. She knew a little more now.

'Take the Dittany with you too. It needs to go on three times a day, and you keep those scars out of the sunlight,' Pomfrey said firmly. 'Keep the bandages on, or wear long sleeves. Remember all that, and they'll be gone in a week or so. And unless Professor Dumbledore permits you stay in the dormitory, I'll expect you back here at five o'clock tonight. No later.'

Agreeing to her terms Harry collected the supplies she was giving him and put them into his bag, accepting a spare tube of bruise paste and a large slab of chocolate. He was tempted to leave immediately, but a not so subtle prompt from Mrs Weasley to keep eating made him slow down a little, not wanting to upset her. Managing a little more to eat he placated her, putting some pieces of fruit into his bag and taking a generous drink of water.

All in all he honestly felt a great deal better than he had the previous night, both physically and mentally. He pulled on his trainers and prepared to leave, not minding that Mrs Weasley started to fuss all over again, tucking in the tag of his shirt and brushing her hand through his hair, still trying to neaten it. She tried to convince him to stay a little longer, but he refused. There was nothing wrong with him, he had slept and eaten…he was ready to go.

'Thank you for staying last night,' he said sincerely, needing to say something. She needed to know what that had meant to him, that he appreciated it. 'It was really good of you.'

She gave him a strange look, patting him on the shoulder when he slung his schoolbag over it. 'I'd have never let you wake up all alone,' she said simply, her tone telling him it should have been obvious. 'Are you sure you won't stay a little longer? Another cup of tea?'

'No, I'm fine.'

She still seemed unhappy with his decision to leave, but nevertheless she walked with him out of the ward and into the waiting room, her hands fidgeting as if she wanted to go at his hair for a third time.

'I'll have to speak to Dumbledore, but Arthur and I would like to have you over the summer, straight away. Of course, if you'd rather go home to your Aunt and Uncle we would understand.'

Harry's heart lifted. 'I'd love to come. Thank you.'

'It will be our pleasure Harry. You're always welcome in our home. Always.'

Just as she had last night after the argument with Fudge, Mrs Weasley hugged him as though it was the most normal thing in the world…just like Sirius had. It was strange to think that just two days ago he, Mrs Weasley and Bill were strolling around the castle and grounds, talking and behaving as though he were part of their family, like there wasn't something terrible coming for them that very night. Harry supposed she did consider him family, certainly her and Mr Weasley's dedication suggested they considered him more than Ron's friend…and he felt that way too. They were more than just his best mate's parents. Especially today.

'Thanks again Mrs Weasley,' he murmured, letting her kiss his cheek as they parted.

Just like a few things did this morning, departing the Hospital Wing felt strange. He strode down the empty corridors, getting the feeling that the school lock down was still in effect for he encountered not a single student, teacher, ghost or otherwise. For the first time in days he was truly alone. He was imprisoned by no one, not tortured or tormented…just completely and utterly alone, exactly the way he wanted.

The fact that he had returned to Hogwarts, the truest home he had ever known, was slowly sinking in. As he walked he listened to the sound of his footsteps on the stone floors, the way they echoed in the wide halls. Out in the corridors he glanced out at the morning sky, and without a watch he made his best judgement that it was still quite early in the morning. He can't have had many hours of sleep, but he felt well enough in spite of that.

Though he had mentioned it to Pomfrey, Harry had no intention of going back to Gryffindor Tower. He wasn't yet ready to face anyone there, not even Ron and Hermione. Being perfectly honest with himself he wasn't sure where he had been going, more focused on the goal of getting out of the Hospital Wing than what he would do after.

He was just thinking about one of the private spots he knew of around the castle, a deep set windowsill away from prying eyes where he could find peace and quiet…and then all of a sudden the corridor ahead of him was no longer empty.

Though this was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, Harry was not alarmed. Even at a distance he recognised Ernie Macmillan heading toward him. There was no reason for him to be afraid of Ernie…but that didn't mean he wanted to face him. But it was too late to turn back, for Ernie had already seen him coming down the corridor, and his head had lifted up in interest. There was no avoiding this.

'Merlin…' Ernie stammered, blinking at him. 'Hey, Harry. You okay?'

Harry nodded quickly, readjusting his schoolbag over his shoulder and then looking away. He wanted to make a quick escape, wishing Ernie would stop looking at him…but then he began to slow, reconsidering. What happened the other night was not just about him, it was about Cedric too.

As he slowed to a stop in the middle of the corridor so too did Ernie, and Harry took a breath before looking up at him again. This was awful, his schoolmate looking at him with a mixture of pity and apprehension. Ernie's eyes darted down to look at his bandaged arm, and then up again to see his face and shadowy eyes.

'Are you guys okay?' Harry asked, not needing to clarify he meant Hufflepuff.

At this question Ernie pulled a funny expression, and then he shrugged awkwardly. 'No, not really,' he said quietly, still looking at Harry. 'I don't think you're okay either.'

Somehow the awkwardness seemed to dissipate with this acknowledgement. 'I guess not.'

'There's been heaps of rumours,' Ernie continued, sounding apologetic for evening bringing them up. 'But everyone's saying you brought Ced's body back from…wherever. That was really good of you.'

Not knowing what to say to that, Harry just nodded awkwardly, steeling himself as he averted his eyes. Ernie had a strange way of saying whatever it was that was on his mind, and he could be pompous on occasion, but he always got straight to the point.

'Where you headed to?' Ernie asked lightly, sounding as though it was just a normal day.

Harry considered this, settling on the truth. 'Don't know, really.'

'We're not really supposed to be out of our houses,' he warned. 'A few of us from Hufflepuff are though. We've set up a memorial.'

'Oh,' Harry murmured, taken aback by this. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, but the thought of a memorial just seemed too hasty. 'Where is it?'

'Entrance Hall. You can't miss it. Have you seen Hannah around here?'

'No. You're looking for her?'

Ernie nodded with a heavy sigh. 'She was upset before, took off this way. She and Cedric knew each other from way back when they were kids.'

'Right. I haven't seen her.'

Feeling like there was nothing more to say Harry set off again, relieved to be done with Ernie and looking forward to being alone again. But he had just passed Ernie by when he called out his name, not yet finished.

'Harry, I don't wanna be an arse,' Ernie said, his cheeks already beginning to flush red. 'It's just…Sprout won't tell us squat. We don't know anything.'

His mouth tightening, Harry looked at Ernie apprehensively, already knowing what the question would be. How did Cedric die? What happened to their house mate? Harry wanted to tell him, he wanted to shout from the rooftops that Voldemort had returned, that their world was forever changed and nothing would ever the same as before. But Dumbledore had been clear about this last night, had instructed Harry not to talk to anyone else without his presence.

But could he deny Ernie's question? Deciding that no, he couldn't, Harry answered as simply but honestly as he could.

'He was murdered.'

The flash of distress was evident in Ernie's eyes, in the subtle way his features flinched. But he could also see that he knew that answer was coming, but had hoped to be wrong.

'That's what we thought.'

Harry wanted to say something else. To say how sorry he was, to explain there was nothing he could do to stop it happening, but words failed him. He was relieved from needing to respond when further down the corridor appeared two figures striding towards him, Ron and Hermione. They were a plausible and understandable reason to leave.

'I should go,' Harry said awkwardly, gesturing to his friends.

Ernie nodded. 'Me too. Hannah.'

As he watched him go Harry wished he had been able to say something better.

Looking back to Ron and Hermione he watched them coming down the long corridor to him, but he didn't move. Instead he lingered where he stood and let them come to him, because he didn't really want to see them yet.

He wasn't ready. He didn't know what to say to them, nor how to broach the subject of what had happened to him, for surely they would have questions. In the graveyard he thought he was going to die, that he would never see either of them again…how was he supposed to explain that?

Yet despite his reluctance to see them, Harry found himself taking a few steps towards them. Before he knew that he felt happy he was smiling, reaching for Hermione who took the last few steps at a run and hugged him. She held him tightly just as Mrs Weasley and Sirius had, her fingers clenching his shirt so tightly it lifted up at the back, and Harry smiled again. It was the first time he had done so in days.

Waiting barely a moment Ron hugged him too, and when they parted Ron's eyes were brimming, his face red and flushed. Through his persistent sense of numb detachment came joy and relief…relief that his friends were here with now, and that they hadn't been involved. Any other time he was caught up in something, one or both of them had been alongside him, except this time. And for that, he was immensely glad.

He wanted to say this to them, but again he just couldn't find the words…and it was only after a few moments that he knew with Ron and Hermione, he didn't need to say anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Not a lot that really happened, but definitely a chapter I enjoyed writing. What do you think Harry is going to do next?
> 
> Please do leave a review!


	13. Chapter 13 - Memorium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy listening to music, I enjoyed listening to "Lupine" (Scaled down version) by Luchs while I was writing this chapter.

It seemed the Hufflepuff students hadn't strictly abided by the common room lock down orders, for what they had put together overnight was a major undertaking.

The enormous Hufflepuff banner from the Great Hall now hung in the Entrance Hall, left of the marble staircase and adjacent to the corridor that would lead down to their common room. Its length was draped over desks taken from a nearby classroom and pushed against the wall, yards of excess fabric bundled up underneath. A framed photograph of Cedric took centre place, his image smiling cheerfully, a little embarrassed by all the fuss and attention he was getting.

Surrounding the photograph was an assortment of yellow and black memorabilia, a Hufflepuff scarf draped over a corner of the desk, a stuffed badger wearing a yellow beanie and so many flowers they were stacked on top of one another. At the back and peeking out over the top of the flowers was the Golden Egg Cedric won from the Swedish Short-Snout in the first task.

Ron and Hermione had accompanied Harry to the Entrance Hall. When he left the Hospital Wing he hadn't a specific place in mind, rather had just started walking with only loose plans of finding somewhere private to hide away. But after talking with Ernie he had decided to go straight here. It felt like this was the place he was supposed to go, and when he said this to Ron and Hermione they just nodded. It wasn't a question of should they go with him, they just did.

When they got to the Entrance Hall Harry began to falter, not feeling prepared for what he had to face. Descending the marble staircase he had slowed down to a stop, choosing to look at the memorial over the edge of the balustrade without going any closer. There had been no one else around but them, not a soul, for which Harry was immensely grateful.

The whole thing had left him feeling unsettled, finding it rather confronting to face. He had thought that seeing and touching Cedric's dead body was enough, that it would have been the final confirmation that his fellow school mate was irrevocably dead, but the memorial was something else entirely.

In the back of his mind Harry had continued to feel a kind of suspended disbelief about Cedric, a stupid but hopeful thought that maybe he had been wrong. Perhaps that's why he had found the memorial so confronting, why he hadn't been able to go any closer. It was an acknowledgement from other people that in fact, Cedric was dead. Harry wasn't mistaken. There wasn't a second chance. Cedric was dead, and people were grieving for him.

Unable to go closer, but not ready to leave, Harry sat half way down the marble staircase and observed the memorial from a distance. As he knew they would his friends lingered with him, Hermione sitting by his side while Ron sat on the step above. Neither of them questioned or pushed him about anything, allowing him to sit there quietly with his thoughts.

The strange sense of normalcy he felt earlier had faded completely, a hopeless wish. Nothing about today was normal. Nothing was ever going to be normal again, the sight of Cedric's memorial making that fact clear.

It might have been ten minutes before someone else came along, hushed whispers drifting out of nowhere as Hufflepuff students emerged. Conscious they were not supposed to be out of their dormitory they moved about quietly, coming forward to lay yet more trinkets, stuffed badgers and flowers on the table.

By then it was been too late for Harry to try and leave undetected. One of the Hufflepuffs had noticed him sitting there on the stairs, pointing him out to their friends, and so Harry grit his teeth and stayed. It would have been worse had they seen him fleeing as if he didn't want to be seen. So instead he had been forced to stand his ground, to remain exactly where he was and continue paying tribute to Cedric in his own silent way.

The Hufflepuff students had talked quietly amongst themselves for a little while, and when more arrived from downstairs their whispers became exasperated. From the relative privacy on the stairs Harry watched as they worked together to rearrange the table, spreading out the bottom of the enormous Hufflepuff banner across the floor so they could lay flowers there too. It was barely seven o'clock in the morning, and already the table was overflowing with tributes.

Harry could hear them talking about him, though their tone of voice was difficult to distinguish. Despite their whispers they didn't disturb him in the slightest, and the small, hesitant smile he got from one of the fifth years made him wonder if they didn't mind him being there.

There was little time to dwell on whether or not the Hufflepuffs wanted him there, for a short while later Harry looked up to the landing above him. Fred, George and Ginny had arrived to join them, and though he had been reluctant at first to see Ron and Hermione, he was glad to see them too.

They weren't overly cautious or apprehensive of him. They didn't act like he was on his death bed ready to croak. Instead the twins ushered Harry to his feet, surprising him when they unexpectedly hugged him. This would be the first time they had seen him since he had been brought through this very Entrance Hall last night, and until now they had heard only second hand recounts of his condition from Ron and Hermione.

'We've left you something in your dorm,' George whispered.

'It's a toilet seat,' Fred added, taking his turn to hug him. 'You're welcome.'

'Gee, thanks,' Harry murmured. 'But I'm still using the first one you gave me.'

Fred nudged Ginny beside him. 'You hear that sarcasm? He's fine.'

Ginny just nodded, lifting her hand to say hello before sitting down a few steps higher. Together the six of them sat there on the marble staircase, for despite the lock down still being in effect more students were beginning to gather in the Entrance Hall. But aside from a few hushed whispers and the occasional pointing, no one dared to bother him with Ron and Hermione sitting right next to him, Fred, George and Ginny lingering nearby and collectively keeping the nosier students away.

They didn't make a scene of keeping people away, though only one other student was permitted to come over. Neville had stopped by to say hello, and quite like his usual self he seemed shy and uncertain, but Harry knew that it wasn't personal. He knew that with even greater certainty when Neville quietly sat down a few steps below them, filling in the last empty spot surrounding Harry.

Noticing this, he made a point of looking around at them all, unable to miss that he was quite literally surrounded by his friends. While he sat against the balustrade and looked down at the memorial his friends had flanked him on all sides, acting as a guard and deterrent against the people around them. Not so long ago he had been completely and utterly alone…but he tried not to dwell on that thought.

The Entrance Hall filled with more and more people as time went on, though the noise didn't reach more than a low hum. Most people weren't talking much, and if they were it was in hushed, respectful whispers.

People were there for Cedric, not solely to gawk at Harry, and that was evident by the way the memorial grew. Students were laying down flowers and home made wreaths, leaving trinkets and photographs and letters to Cedric. It was a collective grief, one they all seemed to share without question.

Yet despite the sadness of this occasion something about this moment felt, dare he think it…good. For a while it felt like they were all in this together, sharing their grief and paying tribute to Cedric as one.

'Do you think it would be bad taste if we put a toilet seat down there?' Fred whispered, leaning down to them.

'I'm not sure they'd understand the sentiment,' Hermione said glumly.

While she was leaning her head against his shoulder Harry tried to glance at her from the corner of his eye. He couldn't do it right now, it wasn't he time or place, but he knew he would need to ask how she and Ron were doing. Being stuck here in the castle while he was missing had to have been awful for them, particularly without having any information to reassure them.

Students weren't the only ones flouting the rules that morning. Teachers were out and about in the corridors, escorting younger students down to the Entrance Hall in groups so they could pay their respects. McGonagall was standing by the doors to the Great Hall with Professor Sprout, covertly passing her colleague a small hip-flask that probably didn't contain pumpkin juice.

Lurking in the corner was Filch in his best trench coat, standing there with what vaguely resembled a solemn expression. Mrs Norris was sitting on his shoulder, her tail smacking him in the face as if to remind him students weren't supposed to be out of their dormitories, but he made no foolish attempts to discipline anyone present.

Hagrid had come by too, but to Harry's relief he had done little more than wave his hand to him, perhaps knowing that Harry didn't want excess attention drawn his way. Instead Hagrid has ushered Neville to come down, and the two of them talked before Neville hurriedly returned.

'Hagrid says the kettle is always on at his hut,' Neville said, relaying the message as he resumed his former place. 'Any time you need a brew.'

'Thanks Nev,' he replied, watching as Hagrid laid down a bunch of flowers along with the others. When he looked up Harry nodded and raised his hand in a small wave, acknowledging his offer with gratitude.

'Should I do it now?' Ron was whispering anxiously to Hermione.

Hermione was hesitant, and she leant forward to get a better look around. 'Yeah, now's good.'

'It's just…' Ron added, still sounding anxious. 'What if they don't want it?'

Harry looked around at them, picking up the conversation halfway through.

'They will, Ron. It's a really nice thought.'

'But, it hasn't exactly been friendly between our houses, you know. What if this makes it worse?'

Turning around Hermione looked him in the eye, imploring him to understand. 'It's a beautiful gesture.'

'It is,' George agreed. 'Can't believe _you_ thought of it.'

Curious about their conversation Harry looked back at Ron above him, surprised to see him clutching his Gryffindor scarf. But it became clearer what Ron was deliberating about, and Harry started to feel guilty now when he looked back to the Hufflepuff scarf draped over the table below.

It should be him who took the Gryffindor scarf down there, who made the twisted sort of condolence offering to Hufflepuff. But what would that be saying? _Sorry I asked Cedric to take the Cup with me? Sorry I got him killed?_

But even if it was the right gesture to make, Harry didn't think he could bring himself to do it. It would be too much…he physically could not bring himself to get up from this step and put his whole self on the line in front of so many people. Wasn't he allowed to be a coward some times?

Ron seemed to understand what Harry was thinking, and he brushed him off. 'It can be you if you want,' he said lowly, sounding as though he were also talking himself into it. 'But I got it. I can give it to them from you. You know, on your behalf.'

Grateful for him, Harry nodded. Things might have been tense between them last year before the First Task, but Ron and Hermione would always have his back. That was never more clear to him than it was in that very moment.

'Thanks,' he said gratefully. 'But don't say it's from me. It's from Gryffindor. From all of us.'

In agreement Ron nodded to himself, and his lips moved as he muttered under his breath, practicing what he would say. He was looking downstairs, his eyes moving along the path he would have to take as he braced himself. Then without another moment of hesitation he simply got up and went down, clutching the Gryffindor scarf.

Harry and the others watched him going down, hesitantly approaching two of Cedric's friends who stood closest the memorial, the sixth year students he was always seen in the company of. The Entrance Hall became quiet now, the sudden change making Ron's ears start to go red in embarrassment, but he didn't falter. He went up to the two sixth years and showed them the scarf, and they talked quietly.

Holding his breath Harry watched on, immensely grateful to Ron for doing this for him, for their entire house. To his immense relief Cedric's friends clapped Ron on the shoulder and ushered him over to the table, and they stood with him as he laid his scarf down on the corner alongside Hufflepuff's.

At once the silence in the Entrance Hall broke, the soft murmurs and whispers picking up a little louder now. Everyone seemed pleased with what had just happened, and Harry could see why. The sight of the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor scarves draped alongside one another was heart-warming, particularly after the intense rivalry that had sprung up in the wake of the Goblet of Fire spitting out Harry's name and upstaging Hufflepuff's champion.

Ron and Cedric's friends talked a little longer, one of them gesturing and looking up at Harry, but Ron hastily shook his head. Roger Davies was coming over now too, bringing a Ravenclaw scarf and laying it down alongside Gryffindor's. Cho Chang was with him, her face pink with tears, and Harry had to look away.

'They wanted to talk to you,' Ron said when he came back and resumed his spot behind Harry and Hermione. He sounded a little out of breath, like he had been holding it the entire time. 'But I said not today. Hope that's okay.'

'Thanks.'

'Screw it,' George said abruptly, jumping up to his feet. 'Let's give Diggory a toilet seat.'

Without another word he departed with Fred hastening to follow, and then after a moment Ginny bolted after them, and she could be heard begging them to let her blow the toilet up this time. Harry watched the three siblings leaving, smiling when he saw Fred sling his arm around his sister's neck and roughly pull her against him, mussing up her hair as he agreed to her request.

Amidst the grief, Harry could hear the beginnings of rumours that were beginning to spread. It was just a whisper here and there, mainly people who hadn't realised Harry Potter could hear them, or who perhaps didn't care. He'd been hearing them interspersed in conversations, and heard most of the rumours repeated in a single conversation when a few students lingered by the memorial to talk, standing right beneath Harry's place on the stairs.

'Moody set the whole thing up to kill Potter,' someone whispered, thinking they were being subtle. 'He killed Cedric.'

'No, no,' someone else whispered urgently. 'Mr Crouch from the Ministry was helping Moody. That's who killed Cedric.'

'But, why was Potter gone for so long?'

'I heard he killed someone. Didn't you see him last night?'

'Do you think he killed Cedric? Like, by accident?'

Giving a short laugh beneath his breath, Harry was astounded at the inaccuracies of the rumours, disappointed that not one single statement he had overheard was true. Rita Skeeter's article from the day of the Third Task surely wasn't helping given she had called him disturbed and dangerous. He turned to Hermione.

'What's the Prophet saying?'

'Just that you and Cedric were missing.'

Not quite trusting her tone of voice, Harry looked at her a little longer. 'And Rita Skeeter?' he asked, looking to Ron also.

'Nothing worth repeating,' he said darkly.

'I'm going to see it anyway.'

Hermione sighed now, having hoped to avoid this line of questions. 'She accused you of pulling a disappearing act to get extra attention, because you had to share the win with Cedric.'

'And Cedric?' he questioned, not at all surprised by Skeeter's angle. 'How did she explain that?'

'Nothing about that, yet. The Evening Prophet only came out not long before you returned.'

'We're expecting her retraction any minute,' Ron muttered darkly.

'She can't just blindly accuse you of manufacturing this. People might believe it. We've already spoken to Dumbledore.'

This was not of any comfort. 'Dumbledore's got bigger things on his plate than her.'

Hermione shook her head, disagreeing. 'It matters. If Fudge won't hear the truth, he's going to put his own version of the truth out there. He's done it before. About Mr Crouch, and Bertha Jorkins.'

'What about today's Prophet?' Harry asked.

'Not here yet. We think the mail might be on hold until the lockdown is over.'

Thankfully their conversation trailed off now, and the gossip about Harry slowly gave way to something better. There was a whispered murmur going around, something about a gathering in the Hufflepuff common room that afternoon. It would be far from a party, but there would be food and it was rumoured Sprout was sending out for Butterbeers.

The whispers came around to them now, Justin Finch-Fletchy coming over to tell invite them, specifically asking Harry come. Everyone was watching him, waiting for his response, and all he could commit to was, 'I'll try.'

'If you're feeling up to it,' Justin said lightly, giving him an out. For a moment he looked as though he were going to clap Harry on the shoulder, but then he seemed to think better of it. 'Thanks Harry.'

'Do you think you'll go?' Ron asked once Justin was gone.

'No,' Harry muttered, looking back down at the memorial. 'I, erm…'

'It's alright,' Hermione said, reaffirming her arm that was entwined with his. 'Ron and I will go. We'll make excuses for you.'

'Thanks.'

A short while later Harry heard the doors to the dungeons open, announcing the arrival of the Slytherins. Having been dreading this very encounter Harry braced himself, his free hand ready to move to his wand though he knew there was no cause for it. Even if Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were there, and even if they'd somehow heard from their fathers the details of what happened, nothing would happen today. There was no reason to be concerned about them, but they weren't the only Slytherins on Harry's mind.

Snape was crossing the Entrance Hall, escorting the small gaggle of students so they could come and pay their respects. As he watched him Harry was relieved to feel only a numb sense of detachment, though he understood and accepted what had happened. Snape had been there while he was tortured, bearing witness to Harry's very worst moments. When he lay on the floor screaming, pleading for them to stop, promising to obey them…Snape had let it happen.

Dumbledore and Sirius had explained everything, but he knew that Snape could have done something to help him sooner. He could have taken drastic measures like rescuing him immediately, even at the expense of revealing himself to be a double agent. Dumbledore himself had said that any cost was acceptable to save him…and Snape had not done it. Instead he had left him to suffer more, all to preserve his double life.

Beside him, Hermione gave him a budge. 'Don't,' she whispered.

Coming back to earth, Harry abruptly remembered that she had her arm entwined around his, that she could feel how tense he had become. He tried to let up, loosening his hand that had been gripping hers, but he could not relax.

'Do you know what he did?' Harry asked, his first step towards gauging what they did and didn't know about what happened to him.

'Dumbledore gave us a run down,' Ron said, and Harry was pleased to hear he sounded equally uneasy with Snape's presence.

'He said Snape saved you,' Hermione added diplomatically. 'Convinced You Know Who to let you go.'

This fact Harry could not dispute, but that didn't mean he wouldn't argue. 'He also stood by and did nothing. He watched while they tortured me.'

There was a long pause, and then Hermione spoke again. 'In ten years, what will matter more? That he -'

'And we are completely on your side,' Ron interrupted, cutting her off with a pointed glare. 'Aren't we, 'Mione?'

'Yes of course,' Hermione hastened to clarify. 'Of course we're on your side. Bu-'

'One hundred percent blindly on your side,' Ron interrupted again.

She nodded in agreement, beginning to look worried that Harry would get the wrong impression. With his face turned away to watch Snape approaching the memorial, she couldn't see the hint of a smile in his eyes. He had known that Hermione would try to make him see things from a different perspective, while Ron would blindly support him no matter what. It was just the way they were, and he never expected any different.

'I get it,' he said gently, glancing back to reassure her he wasn't mad at her. He turned away again, watching as one of the Slytherin seventh years laid down their green scarf with the others. 'But what matters in ten years isn't what matters now.'

'Just to be clear, we hate him right?' Ron asked.

'Yes'

Ron nodded, understanding. 'Maybe if we get lucky he'll insult a Hippogriff.'

Harry managed an actual smile now. A good round of Snape bashing was always good fun. Beside them Hermione was shaking her head in her usual exasperation, this too making Harry smile. Usually half the fun was inciting her, getting her all riled up about their disrespect for teachers.

But the moment of fun was fleeting, for there was no denying where they were right now, there was no pretending. From a distance Harry watched as the Slytherins continued coming forward to lay flowers while Snape watched on, standing with McGonagall and Sprout.

Harry stared, waiting for him to look up and acknowledge Harry's presence. But not once did he look in Harry's direction, and it felt clear he was making a point of that, likely wishing to avoid any interaction at all. Despite what Snape had done for him, Harry still could not bring himself to trust this person, someone who had stood aside and let him suffer so horrifically.

Though it made his skin crawl he thought back to that last encounter at Malfoy Manor, the hooded Death Eater who had tortured him, who had concealed their identity. He didn't want to think about that again, not ever…but it lingered in the forefront of his mind, and he knew who the person who tortured him had to be.

Hermione cleared her throat, gaining their attention. 'Not even a Dementor would kiss Snape.'

At this comment Harry looked around quickly, certain he had misheard her. But Hermione just shrugged, looking between him and Ron. 'You both think you're the only ones who don't like him,' she said indignantly. She readjusted her arm around Harry's, giving a heavy sigh as she looked down at Snape. 'I have insults too, you know.'

Ron let out a laugh-like gasp, covering up his mirth with a hurried cough that trailed off into stifled laughter. Though Harry didn't quite manage the laugh he did look at her proudly, and this time it was him shaking his head in exasperation.

'About time you got into the spirit.'

'Mmm, well. One hundred percent blindly on your side. Juvenile insults and all.'

'Thanks,' he said genuinely, giving her hand a squeeze. 'Shall we get you started on Trelawney?'

Hermione shook her head, bringing his attention to Colin Creevey who was approaching. 'That old bat is too incompetent to insult. Hi Colin.'

Hearing her sharp and expectant tone, Colin hesitated and looked at her warily, perhaps unaware of her unofficial role of keeping people away from Harry. Around his neck hung his camera, and they had seen him photographing Cedric's memorial and ushering people to get out of the frame. But he hadn't dared point that camera in Harry's direction, at least not that any of them had noticed.

'I've got something for Harry,' he said nervously, looking between Ron and Hermione and waiting for their permission. 'It's from Professor Dumbledore,' he added, showing them a scroll of parchment.

'Thanks Colin,' Harry said, reaching out and taking it from him.

'You're welcome,' he breathed, smiling at him. 'I'm really glad you're okay, Harry. We all are.'

Thanking him again, Harry forced a smile so that Colin would leave, and then he reluctantly broke the seal of Dumbledore's scroll. Whatever his Headmaster wanted, Harry wasn't sure he was ready to depart the Entrance Hall. It felt like he would be going too soon, like he needed to sit vigil here the entire day or else he wouldn't have properly paid his respects. The memorial continued to grow as more and more students came and went, while Cedric's friends who lingered for longer were beginning to pass out candles to those around them.

But when he opened Dumbledore's scroll and read, Harry knew that he had to go. Dumbledore was requesting him to come right now, and he must know where Harry was and why. If Dumbledore wanted him to leave the memorial it would be for good reason. Perhaps he had information to share with him, news of what went on for the last few hours while Harry had been sleeping.

Passing the note to Ron and Hermione he let them read it through. They didn't need to talk about it, they just got up together and departed as quietly as possible, whispering a quiet goodbye to Neville who still sat on the stairs a few places below them. A few other people noticed them leaving, but no one said anything or made a fuss, not that Harry had expected them too. At the top of the stairs they passed by Fred, George and Ginny, the latter of whom was soaking wet with toilet water, clutching the toilet seat as her brothers painted it yellow.

Before leaving Harry took one last moment to look over the balustrade to the Entrance Hall below, standing above Cedric's memorial and looking down at it. It had grown and expanded from the small table it had started as, Cedric's Quidditch robes fixed to the wall alongside the team photo and dozens more.

Draped across the corner were the scarves of all four Hogwarts Houses, a unified memorial to their fellow student. As they departed Harry wished that he could stay a little longer, somehow knowing that the sense of unity the school was feeling right now was not going to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter about Cedric's memorial. I had a few loose ideas in mind that slowly came together, and it became a really enjoyable missing moment to write, despite the subject matter. Please leave a review if you enjoyed. Cheers.


	14. Chapter 14 - Padfoot's Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14 - Padfoot's Goodbye

Dumbledore met Harry only a few corridors away from the Entrance Hall, having been waiting there patiently. He seemed unsurprised that Ron and Hermione had joined him, and made no suggestion that they were not welcome to join them. Following Dumbledore's lead they made their way through the castle and down to the ground floor, but he did not immediately start explaining the reason he requested Harry's presence.

Dumbledore looked ragged with exhaustion. From the bits and pieces he had heard Harry figured Dumbledore had been non-stop since he and Cedric disappeared on Saturday night, that he probably hadn't stopped for a good night of sleep. It wasn't until they stepped foot outside the castle and began making their way through various courtyards that Dumbledore spoke, and he sounded as weary as he looked.

'I am relieved to see you in better health, Harry,' he began, casting his eyes over him. 'Did you sleep well?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Good,' he murmured, thinking before he went on. 'I'm proud of the school's response to Cedric's death, despite the unprecedented number of students violating a mandatory lock down. I will come by a little later to also pay my respects to Cedric.'

'There's a lot of rumours going around,' Harry started, not wanting to waste any time.

'Alas, there are. The rumours are partly the reason for our impromptu meeting, Harry. I suggest that perhaps you might like to get an early start on the summer?'

Harry faltered, surprised by this comment. He glanced back at Ron and Hermione who had purposefully fallen behind, but could still hear.

'Are you trying to get rid of me?'

Dumbledore shook his head. 'No, Harry. But if you wished to leave school a few days early, I would permit you to do so.'

_He did…Merlin, how he did._ 'I'd have to ask Mrs Weasley if-'

'Harry,' Dumbledore cut him off apologetically. 'I've spoken with Mrs Weasley, and she made it clear she wishes you to go to her home immediately. However, I cannot permit you to go to the Burrow. I'm sorry. You must return to your family in Privet Drive.'

At this Harry stopped dead in his tracks. His family? The Dursleys were not his family. Especially not after last night, after the way Mrs Weasley had stayed with him, the way Fred and George hugged him like their own brother. The horror must have been evident on his face, for Dumbledore's expression became only more apologetic.

'I understand your reluctance.'

'I'm not going there.'

'You must, Harry. I hope you can understand. I have my reasons.'

'What reasons?' he demanded angrily.

'Reasons that for now, I cannot disclose to you.'

His anger was swiftly replaced by hurt and paranoia. Dumbledore's refusal to share such insignificant information about why he couldn't go to the Burrow hit him hard…because Dumbledore knew he couldn't keep a secret.

Last night Harry had been completely honest with him about Voldemort's torture, had admitted that he answered every question he could, anything to stop the pain. Now Dumbledore knew that Harry wouldn't be able to stand up to that kind of situation again…it was wise for him to not share any information, but that didn't make it any easier.

'I'm not going back to the Dursley's any earlier than I have to,' he said solidly, making his discontent with the situation explicitly clear. 'And I'm not staying there either. I'm not staying the whole summer.'

Dumbledore nodded, but Harry got the feeling it was not a nod of agreement. Perhaps wisely Dumbledore immediately changed the subject and ushered Harry to start walking again, for they had some other place to be.

'If you are feeling up to it, Harry, I would like you to meet with Mr and Mrs Diggory this morning. They would like to thank you for returning Cedric's body.'

Feeling like this whole conversation was getting worse and worse, Harry barely nodded his head. 'Do they believe me?'

'Do they believe that Voldemort has returned? I'm not sure. Do they believe that you had anything to do with Cedric's death, nefariously or otherwise? No. They only wish to thank you. I do not believe they will ask too many questions, as I have answered them sufficiently.'

They were out in the grounds now, the Durmstrang ship visible in the distance. It was a sunny morning with clear skies, and the pleasantness of the weather was completely at odds with the way Harry felt. It ought to be cloudy, raining at the very least.

'Did you bring me out here just to ask about the Diggorys?'

Now, Dumbledore smiled. 'I brought you here following a rousing demand from Sirius. Very rousing, in fact. You see Harry, there've been reports in this morning's Daily Prophet, the details of which are concerning to Sirius and I.'

'What is it?'

From inside his robes Dumbledore passed him a folded Daily Prophet, the morning edition. When Harry saw it his throat tightened, heart beginning to beat hard as he found his ordeal splashed across the front page for the whole magical community to see. The centre photograph was him, of Mr Weasley pulling him up to his feet on the Quidditch pitch.

The Harry in the photo could barely stand, covered in blood and muck. On the ground was Cedric, his image mercifully blurred out. The headline read 'One dead, Potter survives', but it wasn't the feature headline or article concerning Dumbledore. It was the column next to it, the smaller headline no less impactful.

_'Headmaster and mass murderer. Co-conspirators'._

Harry skimmed through the Rita Skeeter article, his heart sinking as horror rose up inside his throat. Someone had been in the Hospital Wing last night, had overheard the argument between Dumbledore and Fudge. But three paragraphs down came the passage that was of greatest concern, the accusation that Sirius Black had been by Harry's bedside. The notorious mass murderer comforting Harry Potter, working with Dumbledore…

The article went on, covering that Sirius had been there with him in the hospital wing, staying at his bedside for hours. That he had left on Dumbledore's orders, abandoning Harry, both of them conspiring a plot to discredit Fudge and take the Minister for Magic position.

'How did she know all this?' Harry asked, quietly, reading the article again. 'How did she know Sirius was there?'

'A great many things about this article concern me, not least of which that Rita Skeeter gained access to our Hospital Wing while we were under lock down. What is also alarming, is that Skeeter must know of Sirius' status as an unregistered Animagus.'

'But…but she didn't say anything about that,' he wondered, looking for anything he had missed.

'Knowing Skeeter as we do, it is my suspicion she will hold on to that information until such a time that the first article has gained traction and interest. What this means for Sirius however, is that his useful disguise will soon prove highly dangerous for him.'

Folding the newspaper he turned back to Ron and Hermione and gave it to them, unwillingly taking one last look at the cover photograph of himself. That moment had to be one of the worst he'd ever experienced - coming back out of the blue, barely able to stand or think…and it was immortalised in print for everyone to see.

'What am I supposed to say to people?' he asked, deferring to Dumbledore for advice. 'They'll ask about Sirius. He's supposedly out to kill me.'

Dumbledore appeared thoughtful now, but he quickly reached his advice. 'To deny Sirius would be to deny his importance to you. At such grave times like this when you will no doubt lean on him for support, I would not ask you to deny his commitment to you by lying.'

'You want me to tell the truth?'

'Yes, Harry,' Dumbledore said emphatically. 'The truth is of great importance. The truth we speak must never waver or change. It must never be hidden because some find it inconvenient. If you're asked, tell the truth about Sirius, just as I know you will tell the truth about Cedric, and Lord Voldemort.'

'And when they don't believe me?' Harry asked next, conscious that this question was about more than Sirius. It was about more than what his fellow school students would ask in their last days before end of term.

'Tell the truth. Again and again if you must. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' Harry nodded, relieved he didn't need to remember some rubbish story to keep Sirius safe. 'Where's Sirius now?'

'We'll be meeting him at the Whomping Willow. As I said, he made a very rousing demand to see you one last time. With Rita Skeeter's knowledge of his disguise, it may soon become impossible for him to be seen in any form.'

When they rounded the final curve of the hill they saw the Whomping Willow, and sprawled out on the grass a few yards out of reach was Padfoot. The moment he raised his head and saw them coming his tail started wagging uncontrollably, and Harry would have laughed were it any other day. Waiting until he got a nod of approval from Dumbledore, Padfoot promptly transformed back into a man and waited for Harry to approach.

'I can allow only a few minutes,' Dumbledore said apologetically. 'There are Ministry wizards still on the castle grounds, investigating on Fudge's orders.'

Leaving Ron and Hermione behind he was already making his way over to Sirius, managing a smile when he thought of him coming through the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack, just as he had a year ago. Except then Harry had been with him, and he remembered the conversation as if it had been moments ago.

_'Well…your parents appointed me your guardian. If anything happened to them…if you wanted a…a different home…'_

Harry could remember all too well the explosion of joy that took place within him, the idea that he could move in with Sirius giving him the kind of hope he'd not ever known. And the smile on Sirius' face when Harry said he wanted to leave the Dursleys…it had made him look ten years younger, more like himself before the deaths of his friends and more than a decade in Azkaban.

Just like it had last night, it felt completely natural when Sirius embraced him, as if their hopeful plans from the year before had come to fruition after all, and they had been de facto father and son this whole time. For a long moment Sirius simply held him without saying a word, and Harry tried to take in every moment as best he could, for he knew all too well that this wasn't going to last. It never did.

'I'm sorry that I can't stay,' Sirius said solemnly, pulling away and putting his hand on Harry's shoulder. 'That Skeeter article, it makes it dangerous for me to be anywhere now, even as Padfoot.'

'Then why did you come here?'

'I wanted to say goodbye properly. I don't know when I can see you again.'

At this Harry's heart sank, his entire situation just getting worse and worse with every passing minute. 'No,' he said firmly, looking Sirius in the eye. 'That's not good enough.'

Sirius blinked at him, surprised by Harry's bluntness. 'Please understand, there are things I need to do right now. I have to help Lupin. He's getting the old crowd together, people who will believe us. People who can do something.'

'And what about me?' he asked in frustration. The anger he had suppressed earlier began to rear its head, unable to stand this injustice. 'Dumbledore is making me go back to the Dursleys. He's dumping me there, and now you can't tell me when I can see you again?'

'Dumbledore thinks this is what's safest for you.

'That's bull shit!'

Sirius seized him with both hands, the gesture jolting him a little. 'Dumbledore and I…our greatest priority is for you to be safe. Everything we arranged with Snape, and anything we do from now on is solely about keeping you safe.'

Still frustrated with him Harry pushed his hands away, feeling worse with every passing minute.

'I understand what it's like to leave this place and go home to people you despise. But you have to do it.'

'The Weasleys want me to come, Mrs Weasley said so herself,' he argued, keeping his voice down in the hope Dumbledore didn't hear too much. 'Why am I any less safe there than I am with Muggles who don't give a shit about me?'

'I know you like the Weasleys, and Dumbledore speaks highly of them. But Dumbledore has decided what's safest for you, and I trust him. I trust him with your life.'

Harry just stared at him, and he chose words that he knew would go deep. 'You said my mum and dad wanted you to be my guardian. They wanted _you_ , not Dumbledore. Why aren't you deciding what happens to me?'

These words had the effect Harry was hoping for. Sirius' expression changed, taken aback by Harry bringing up his parents and their wishes, the very wishes Sirius had explained to him last year. But it seemed to backfire on him, because if anything Sirius doubled down.

'I am deciding,' he said hesitantly, speaking slowly while gauging Harry's reaction. 'I'm deciding that I trust Dumbledore's judgement, and so should you.'

With a great sigh of frustration Harry turned away, feeling any semblance of control slipping through his fingers. Sirius was not taking his side at all. He didn't understand.

'I swear, Harry. I will come see you soon.'

'When?' he demanded.

'Your birthday.'

Harry's face fell again. 'In a month?'

'Harry, this is the least of the problems we're facing right now,' Sirius implored, pleading with him to listen. 'All the stories in the Prophet and Fudge's behaviour…it will not go away. Fudge will decide that Barty Crouch Jnr was a manic who kidnapped you because he was a nutcase, and that Dumbledore took advantage of the situation to gain power.'

Harry nodded, following along. 'And me? How will he explain what I'm saying about Voldemort?'

'He'll say you were traumatised by Cedric's death, and that you'll believe anything Dumbledore tells you. Don't forget, Voldemort doesn't want you to be believed either. He's already set up a plausible explanation for what happened to you, and you'll be discredited at every turn. Lucius Malfoy is probably already at the Ministry by now, ready to kiss whatever arse he needs in order to maintain his own credibility against you.'

'Dumbledore wants me to keep telling the truth,' Harry said quietly, glancing back at him. Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore stood a distance away, lingering there awkwardly as Dumbledore looked up at the clouds. 'But if Voldemort's going to discredit me, what's the point?'

'Voldemort won't hide forever,' Sirius implored, putting his hands on Harry's shoulders again. 'One day the truth will come out, and you'll be able to tell the world that your story never wavered. You told the truth, and you _never_ gave up on it.'

'Okay,' Harry breathed, taking this in. 'I get it.'

Sirius looked past him now, his body becoming tense as Harry whirled around. Dumbledore was striding off into the distance leaving Ron and Hermione behind, and out of nowhere appeared Crookshanks, vocalising up at Sirius with a clear sense of urgency.

Sirius turned his attention back and looked Harry in the eye, holding his gaze. 'Harry, I need you to listen. I need you to really hear me, because this is important.'

'I'm listening.'

'I want you to know how proud I am of you. How proud your mum and dad would be.'

At these comments Harry visibly flinched, looking away. This was not what he wanted to hear right now…he wasn't ready for this. Without warning a wave of emotion struck him heavily, and it nearly unseated him after feeling so level headed all morning.

Harry shook his head, struggling to articulate the sheer magnitude of his failures. His parents had tried to save him in the graveyard, but he didn't make it. Nothing he did saved himself, he did nothing worthy of earning anyone's pride.

'I didn't do anything.'

Sirius wouldn't hear of it. 'You faced Voldemort, and you lived. You faced him Harry, and you held your head high.'

'No, I didn't,' he said, pleading for Sirius to understand that he wasn't deserving of pride. Against his will his eyes welled up, forcing him to look at the ground as he tried to speak around the lump in his throat. 'I couldn't…I obeyed him, I told him things.'

Again Sirius just shook his head, his hands on Harry's shoulders gripping him. 'You faced him, and you survived. I am proud of you Harry, nothing will ever change that. You hear?'

At his feet Crookshanks continued circling, vocalising even louder. The longer Sirius delayed the more urgent he became, and soon he reached up and extended his claws into the leg of Sirius' trousers. Sirius gave a startled yelp and then admonished the cat, trying to shake him off.

'Snuffles!' Ron called out, he and Hermione starting to hurry over. 'You have to go. Now.'

'You did as much as your mother and father would have done,' Sirius said fiercely. 'I can give you no higher praise than that.'

Sirius hugged him tightly, holding him close as the horrible sense of failure began to ease. Sirius didn't think he had failed, he understood that he just needed to survive, even if that meant submitting to Voldemort's will. Clinging to him Harry wished this moment could last for hours, that he and Sirius never needed to be apart. It should have been like this all along, it should have been Sirius who raised him just as his parents had wanted.

'I have to go,' Sirius said hurriedly, wrenching himself away. He looked worried now, his eyes darting past Harry and then back to him. 'I'll see you soon – I promise.'

Before Harry could say even a single word of response Sirius had transformed. Ahead of him Crookshanks had already touched the knot at the foot of the Whomping Willow, making for Padfoot's safe passage as he bounded towards the small opening at the base of the trunk. In no more than a few seconds he was completely gone, disappeared beneath the trunk as he fled to the safety of the Shrieking Shack, and then somewhere else unknown.

Harry just stood there in disbelief, feeling cheated by Sirius' hurried departure. There wasn't the opportunity to say goodbye, nor for Harry to thank him for everything – for being there with Dumbledore when he was missing, for comforting him as he recounted his story, for staying with him during the night. And now Sirius was gone again, and there was no telling when he would be back.

Behind him there was the sound of hurried footsteps, and then Ron and Hermione were by his side, urgently making him start walking with them.

'Just be cool,' Ron panted. 'We're taking a walk, that's all.'

Harry followed their lead and fell into step alongside them. As they walked he looked over his shoulder, and from around the curve of the hill appeared Dumbledore in the company of half a dozen others. From a distance it was difficult to tell, but there didn't seem to be a friendly vibe.

'Who are they?'

'Ministry Officials,' Hermione said lowly. 'Someone must have tipped them off we were out here. Dumbledore heard them coming, he went to head them off.'

'And we're on a perfectly innocent walk,' Ron stated, looking around at Harry. 'Not conspiring with a mass mur…'

He trailed off when he saw Harry's face, realising that he had been crying. Ron gave a low sigh, reaching up and clasping Harry on the back of the shoulder.

'You know whatever happens next, we're with you,' he murmured. 'We're in this together, mate.'

'Yeah, we are,' Hermione added, taking Harry's hand in hers. 'We're with you.'

Appreciating these words Harry hastily wiped his eyes dry, embarrassed nonetheless. But he didn't get the chance to speak, for Ron was giving Hermione an awfully strange look, one that nearly stopped Harry in his tracks.

'What's wrong with you?' Harry asked, wondering if it was because Hermione was holding his hand. 'Ron?'

Ron completely ignored him, looking past him at Hermione, his eyes wide as he hissed her name. 'Hermione…Hermione!'

Hermione too seemed perplexed, but when Ron jerked his head awkwardly she looked around, and then her eyes too widened in alarm. They both stopped in their tracks, as did Harry – and then his heart leapt into his throat. Inexplicably, Hermione had raised her wand at him, and his mind raced to a million different places as his heart began thundering in his chest.

'What the hell are you doing?' he demanded in outrage, pointing his own wand at her in return.

'Drop your bag – slowly,' Hermione whispered. 'Harry, drop your bag.'

'What?'

Without explaining Ron came forward, the touch of his hand on Harry's back startling him, making him lurch. But with careful dexterity Ron slipped his fingers under the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder. He slid it down his arm and then moved away, carrying it aloft as though holding a grenade.

'Do it now!' Ron hissed, holding the bag out in front of himself. 'Quick – she's taking off!'

With something resembling a shriek Hermione lunged towards the bag and wrestled with it, while Harry just watched on in bewilderment. He looked up the hill towards Dumbledore and the Ministry officials, glad to see they were departing already, that they weren't witness to this commotion.

Meanwhile the contents of Harry's schoolbag were being tossed astray, the slab of chocolate from Pomfrey, bottles of Dittany and pain potion thudding to the ground. It went completely unnoticed by Ron and Hermione, the latter who continued fighting an unseen adversary.

'I've got her!' she declared, looking at Ron wildly. She clutched Harry's schoolbag against her chest, elbow deep inside it. 'I've got her!'

As if forgetting about Harry completely Ron and Hermione took off towards a nearby tree, whispering excitedly between themselves. Still bewildered Harry just watched them go, lowering his wand which had still been raised in self-defence. Muttering under his breath he hastened to collect his belongings strewn about on the grass, and then hastened to follow.

'What the hell are you two doing?'

Calming themselves, Ron and Hermione looked at him with equally ridiculous grins. Tossing his schoolbag aside Hermione thrust a small glass jar in his face.

'Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus,' she declared proudly. 'She can turn into a beetle.'

Harry looked at the jar in disbelief. Inside were a few twigs and leaves, and one large, fat beetle. 'That's never – you're kidding –' he whispered, taking the jar and lifting it to his eyes.

'No, I'm not,' said Hermione, beaming. 'I almost caught her the night you disappeared lurking around me and Ron, and just now she was on your bag. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears.'

Harry looked, and saw that she was quite right. Slowly pieces began to fall into place, and he remembered the beetle on the statue the night Hagrid talked to Madam Maxime, and the day they saw Malfoy under the tree talking into his hand. If Rita Skeeter could transform into a beetle she could have placed herself anywhere to get a story, she could have spied on absolutely anything.

'What are we going to do with her?'

Ron laughed shortly. 'I said we should stick her on a lump of dung where she belongs. But Hermione's up for some good old fashioned blackmail.'

'She's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year, or I'll spill the beans on her being an unregistered Animagus. Let's see if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people.'

Sharing their satisfied smiles, Harry passed the glass jar back. 'Yes to the blackmail. But we should turn her in to Dumbledore. He needs to know how she got in to Hogwarts, how she got in to the Hospital Wing.'

For these few brief minutes Harry had forgotten all about Sirius, and it was a relief, even though the heartache of missing him was returning already. As they stowed Skeeter in his schoolbag and continued feigning their innocent walk around the grounds, Ron repeated what he had said earlier.

'You know whatever happens next, we're with you,' he murmured. 'We're in this together, mate.'

'Yeah, we are,' Hermione added, taking Harry's hand in hers again. 'We're with you.'

'Thanks,' he said genuinely though he was certain none of them really knew how trying the coming weeks and months would be for them. Trying to lighten the conversation he looked towards Hagrid's Hut which was not far away. 'We should stop in. Have that cuppa.'

'I reckon that's decided,' Ron agreed, pointing out Fang who was already bounding towards them across the grounds. 'How long should we stay?'

Grateful that Ron and Hermione would make any number of excuses to get him out once he'd had enough, Harry shrugged. 'I dunno. Let's see how bad the Rock Cakes are.'

'Usual signal?' Hermione suggested, waving her hand to Hagrid who had stepped outside upon seeing their approach. 'Coughing fit?'

'We can blame the lock down,' Ron decided, rushing forward to intercept Fang who looked just about ready to bowl them over. 'Here boy, come here!'

While Fang excitedly lunged at Ron, covering him in slobber as he eagerly wagged his tail, Harry looked down towards Hagrid who was patiently waiting for them on his front porch. In the brief delay he mentally steeled himself, knowing that he needed to not only get through seeing Hagrid, which he wanted to do, but also get through seeing the Diggorys.

The notion of dealing with anything beyond those two things was completely lost on him, as was the idea that he was free - something that didn't quite feel like it had sunk in yet. As Hagrid hugged him tightly and tearfully offered tea Harry focused on saying and doing all the right things, a clear goal to simply get through the morning.

What was to come after that, he didn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next two chapters I really enjoyed writing, it took a major plot rewrite to make them happen, but I'm glad I did it! Please drop a review and let me know if you enjoyed the chapter.


	15. Chapter 15 - The Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 - The Burrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N A nice long chapter, really hope you enjoy reading!

The journey from Hogwarts to King's Cross station had passed pleasantly enough, save for their run in with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry wished that it could have gone on all summer. He had not taken Dumbledore up on the offer that he leave Hogwarts before the end of term, for he did not want to spend a minute more at the Dursley's than he absolutely had to. Instead he had stayed on at school, the last week of term passing in a blur that he didn't want to dwell on.

After the first few days passed Harry found his memories of what happened began to grow distant. If asked he could have recited it moment for moment just as he had done for Dumbledore, but his actual recollections of the events felt remote and far away. He was perfectly content with it being this way, the disconnected feeling making it easier to put it all out of his mind.

He had declined to attend any of the final week classes, knowing he would be unable to avoid the stares of both his fellow students and his teachers. The thought of running into other students like Cedric's friends or Malfoy was enough to keep him from moving about the castle as normal, and even worse than that was the prospect of running into Snape. Instead he had largely stuck to Gryffindor Tower or Hagrid's cabin, the latter of which he frequented often upon Hagrid's invitation.

When classes started each day and the corridors emptied he would make his way down to Hagrid's cabin, content to quietly pass the time in Fang's company and Hagrid's too when he was not teaching. Much like he had come to feel about the Burrow, Hagrid's cabin felt like a second home beyond Hogwarts, but particularly where no one stared at or bothered him.

He had avoided the Great Hall almost completely, eating in there only when it was nearly empty, or slipping down to the kitchens where he always found a friendly face from Dobby. And so the final week of term passed without further incident, and despite the prospect of his destination Harry felt a sense of relief to be getting on the Hogwarts Express, glad that he could get away from it all.

When they arrived at King's Cross Station, Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys hung back a little while, letting the rest of the student body depart the train and filter through the platform before following. He knew too well what was going on outside of Hogwarts, that Fudge didn't believe him and Death Eaters like Malfoy were still free and without suspicion. Naturally it occurred to him that he might run in to one of them at the station, that they might be there to pick up their sons for the summer.

Harry had been fully expecting to be greeted by Uncle Vernon's usual expression of disapproval, and so had pre-emptively said his goodbyes to Hermione and the Weasleys so as to not keep his uncle waiting. When they came through the barrier with their trunks they farewelled Hermione, whose parents were reliably standing in the same spot they waited for her every single year.

From there Harry laid eyes on Mr and Mrs Weasley, and after an obligatory glance around for the Dursleys he naturally gravitated towards them. It went beyond his natural inclination to say hello to them, for it was just easier to stay in stride with Ron, Ginny and the twins. As his friends had done all week they acted as a buffer between him and the rest of the student body, who had taken to staring and gawking at him, rarely bothering to hide their whispers.

Mr and Mrs Weasley greeted them all cheerfully, embracing each of them in turn, Harry included. Seeing him again Harry couldn't help but remember that the last time Mr Weasley had seen him was in Dumbledore's office the night he returned, a time when he was practically mute with shock. So he didn't question it when they both hugged him a little longer than normal, but when Mrs Weasley gave him a cheerful smile he took pause.

'We've had a word with Dumbledore,' she said happily. 'He's agreed you can come home with us for a couple of days. Arthur will take you to Surrey on Monday.'

Harry's heart soared, and he looked to Mr Weasley as though for confirmation. 'Thank you,' he said quickly, realising he had said nothing at first, so taken aback by the fortunate turn of events.

'I thought Dumbledore said no?' Fred queried in interest.

'Your mother pitched a fit,' Mr Weasley answered proudly. 'Gave Professor Dumbledore quite the telling off, didn't you dear?'

'Arthur!' she admonished him, looking a little flustered as she turned back to Harry and the others. 'I did no such thing. Professor Dumbledore and I were in complete agreement.'

Harry just grinned, laughing genuinely when Mr Weasley mouthed the words _spectacular fit_ behind his wife. 'Thank you, Mrs Weasley. Seriously.'

'It's our pleasure, dear.'

She ushered them all to get moving, and they loaded their trunks onto trolleys and then set off together while Harry and Ron shared a grin. In no time at all they were back at the Burrow, and the moment Harry set foot there he felt a small part of the weight on his chest beginning to lift. Just as it did at Hogwarts, returning to the Burrow felt like coming home, something he'd never quite associated with life at Privet Drive.

Trying not to think about how short his stay here would be he settled in for his two day stay, grateful to be there at all. But as it usually did when faced with the prospect of something he dreaded, time passed quickly, and before he knew it he was spending his last evening at the Burrow, and Mr Weasley would take him to Surrey the following day.

It was more than the dread of returning to people who so openly looked at him in distaste, for that feeling at least was mutual, it was the looming isolation he dreaded. Harry already knew exactly what it would be like back at the Dursley's. At the Burrow he could keep relatively busy, for there was always someone around or something going on, but he wouldn't have that at the Dursleys.

A few times Harry found himself looking forward to this, feeling like he needed to shut himself away from the world and be alone with his thoughts, needing time to properly process what had happened. But these moments passed quickly, overcome by the memories of isolation and loneliness he associated with Privet Drive.

Mrs Weasley had put him in Bill and Charlie's old room on the first floor. Though he never minded sharing with Ron, this time around he was grateful for the privacy and solitude that sharing a small bedroom wouldn't have afforded him. After a second night in the hospital wing Madam Pomfrey had discharged him back to the dormitory, sending him with some potions he could use at his wish, including more of the dreamless sleep potion.

But the dreamless sleep potion hadn't lasted him more than two nights, and for some reason Harry couldn't bring himself to ask for any more. Instead he had tried going without, but as the nights progressed without anything to guarantee peaceful sleep he was beginning to regret it. He had been alright at first, but the last two nights he had been plagued by peculiar dreams - odd flashes that were not nightmares, but still left him shaken and uneasy.

His last night at the Burrow was proving unsettling. It felt as though he'd not been to sleep at all, but rather had been lingering somewhere between sleep and waking. He roused constantly throughout the night, strange thoughts or sounds jolting him back to consciousness with a small lurch, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

Pummelling the pillow he would turn over in bed, frustrated with himself that he had been too proud to ask Madam Pomfrey for any more sleeping potion. He didn't imagine that she would deny the request. Why hadn't he asked?

Having roused again Harry had gone downstairs for a glass of water, enjoying the peacefulness of the Burrow in the middle of the night. Yet when he returned to bed he was no better off. He was lightly dozing again when he felt a dream coming on, the images creeping in on the edges of his vision.

Voldemort's voice was somewhere nearby, offering him no reprieve from those awful memories. As he slipped into darkness Voldemort's voice became clearer, even as he tried to pull away. He knew what was happening, that he was dreaming...but he couldn't quite wake himself up.

_Voldemort was following him through the Hogwarts corridors, pestering him while Harry tried to get to class. Nagini was slithering alongside them, and though Harry broke into a run to try and lose them he stood no chance._

_'The prophecy?' Voldemort asked again, persistent in his questioning. 'Tell me what you know of the prophecy.'_

_Voldemort was everywhere. All around him - relentless. Ahead of them was Professor Moody...except it wasn't him, not really. Harry knew that now._

_'Oh, if there's one thing I hate, it's a Death Eater who walked free.'_

_Harry's scar was aching. He stumbled, Nagini tripping him up while Voldemort continued to pester him._

Finally Harry somehow managed to rouse himself. Wrenching himself out of the dream he sat up in bed, his chest heaving for breath. Unable to stop himself he hurriedly rubbed his hand over his scar. The phantom pain receding as quickly as it had come on, leaving him shaky.

_Are you frightened, Harry?_

Having only been half asleep in the first place he calmed quickly, but the cold sweat on his skin and tight chest lingered. For a few minutes he sat perfectly still, listening to the silence of the Burrow, looking around the bedroom as if to reacquaint himself with where he really was. He was not _there_ anymore. Voldemort was nowhere near him.

The prophecy.

Angry with himself Harry swung his feet out of bed and sat on the edge, putting his face in his hands. _No, no, no._ He was not thinking about any of that, especially the prophecy. Divination was rubbish...there was no reason Voldemort should have asked him something like that.

Turning on the light Harry looked at the time, wondering if he'd be able to get out of bed again without arousing Mrs Weasley's worries. He'd heard her up a few times during the night, going downstairs for something, and when she came back she always seemed to linger outside his room, checking on him.

It was a little after four o'clock in the morning, but Harry couldn't stand it any longer - he was not getting any more sleep that night. Getting out of bed he moved around the room that was his for one more day, getting dressed before beginning to organise and pack his trunk. He worked as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Ginny who slept in the room next door.

As he packed his trunk the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach only began to grow…he was going back, today. He had to leave the Burrow. He had to go.

Finishing up in his room he made the bed and then slowly opened the bedroom door, peeking out before emerging onto the dark landing. Taking care not to step on any spots that would creak he headed downstairs. It was dark in the Burrow, but this was nothing at all like the darkness he had experienced in the cellar of Malfoy Manor. Here at the Burrow he moved around comfortably, knowing where all the furniture was, anticipating the turns of the staircase and when it would end.

Downstairs he made his way through the living room and into the kitchen, and it was there he stopped for some light. He didn't know why he was keeping this a secret from anyone, but he did this only because he knew he was alone down there.

Just as he had done in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, Harry held his palm open and concentrated as hard as he could, whispering Lumos under his breath. He was seeking that little ball of light, and when it bloomed in the palm of his hand his heart lifted.

He had first tried this a few nights ago at Hogwarts, laying awake in the dormitory and trying to get past how strange it felt to be back there. When he first tried it he came up with nothing, frustrated that he couldn't seem to manage it. In the cellar of Malfoy Manor he had been wandless and tortured, and yet he had successfully conjured light with his bare hands, even if it had come about unintentionally the first time.

It had taken persistence and keeping his wand nearby, but he had finally managed to conjure the little ball of light just as he did in that cellar. Now, days later he had practiced enough that he didn't need his wand at all, and though it wasn't bright enough to illuminate an entire room the light was enough to read by, and he was calling that a success.

In the nights that followed, particularly those in which he struggled to sleep, Harry had conjured the light in the palm of his hand again. It wasn't a case of being afraid of the dark, but simply that he liked it. The little ball of light brought a sense of comfort, though that wasn't something he'd say out loud. In the cellar of Malfoy Manor this little ball of light was the only thing he had with him, the only semblance of power he possessed.

Wandless magic, however he was managing it, had somewhat protected him from Malfoy's cruel torture…even if it's what got him into trouble in the first place. After finding success with the light he had of course tried doing something else, attempting simple charms like levitation or summoning. But despite his efforts nothing else seemed to work for him, and not caring enough to persist he had stopped bothering with it.

While the little ball of light hovered nearby Harry put a kettle of water on the stove to make some tea, taking care to ensure the kettle didn't start whistling and wake anyone upstairs. He brewed some tea and then took it into the living room, and with a little concentration the hovering ball of light followed him.

As he passed it by he looked at the Weasley family clock, noting that Percy's hand was still pointing at Work. Yesterday George had overheard an argument between Mr Weasley and Percy, one that culminated with Percy leaving for work on a Sunday afternoon. He'd not returned for dinner that night, and judging by the clock had opted to sleep in his office.

Harry didn't need to ask what the argument had been about. Percy had been perfectly polite and cordial just as he always was, but Harry could tell he wasn't happy that he had come to the Burrow. It made things hard at first, feeling like he was intruding no matter how warmly the Weasleys had welcomed him

Taking a book from the shelf Harry settled into one of the comfortable armchairs and curled up, sipping at the tea before beginning to read. Reading had never been particularly encouraged by the Dursleys, whereas the Burrow had an enormous bookshelf crammed full of books and novels from the wizarding world. For now at least it was nice to be able to turn his mind off and focus on something, lest his thoughts start to wander…

As he settled in to read he felt peaceful and at ease, for though he hadn't really spent a huge deal of time at the Burrow over the years it felt like home. At this thought he began to dwell on his impending return to Surrey, feeling his stomach clench yet again. At the Burrow silence was a pleasant contrast to the noisy chatter of life, but at the Dursley's the silence was all encompassing. It meant walking on egg shells, making sure he didn't aggravate his aunt and uncle, or provoke Dudley into a row.

By five thirty the sun had fully risen, making the ball of light redundant now that morning light was streaming through the windows. When Harry closed the book and set it aside as he turned to the ball of light and allowed it to fade away into nothing, still getting a kick out of his ability to control it.

By now he had lost interest in the book he'd been reading, and had been sitting quietly for some time, not thinking or dwelling on anything in particular. His mind was comfortably blank and empty, allowing him to rest in a way. It briefly occurred to him that he could go back to bed for a while, but he knew if he got up from this armchair he would break the comfortable reverie.

It was only the sound of a soft tapping that roused him. Deducing what it was given the time of morning he headed into the kitchen to find a brown owl sitting on the window sill outside. Opening the window he allowed the owl in, untying the Daily Prophet from around its leg as it took a drink of water from Errol's dish. He paid the owl from the jar of Knuts kept by the window sill and looked at the folded up newspaper.

Mentally he braced himself, unsure if he really wanted to read the headlines or not. Maybe the Weasley's were right...

Yesterday the absence of the Sunday Prophet had been very conspicuous. He had gone looking for it, having remembered that he needed to subscribe for the summer, but he'd been unable to find it anywhere. It wasn't in the kitchen and nor in the living room where it usually was beside Mr Weasley's preferred armchair. He had looked everywhere for it, trying to avoid the attention of Mrs Weasley as he did so. He got the feeling she had something to do with its absence.

On the pretence of putting the chickens away for the night Harry had continued his search yesterday evening, determined to find the newspaper. He wasn't oblivious to what was going on, he knew that Fudge was in complete denial and that much of the reporting on what happened to him had been incorrect or blatantly false, which in his opinion was all the more reason to keep up with the news.

Harry turned to Mr Weasley's garage, for he almost never failed to read the newspaper and daily crossword, particularly the Fiendishly Difficult one published every Sunday. On a daily basis he would either proudly announce his success or quietly grumble that he hadn't been able to crack it, but yesterday he'd not said a word about the crossword. The newspaper had been delivered Harry was sure of it. If it was anywhere, it would be somewhere Mr Weasley could read it.

He'd been right. The moment he slipped into Mr Weasley's garage he had seen it straight away, sitting on top of an old water heater. The moment Harry looked at the headline he knew why the Weasley's had hidden this from him.

_The Boy Who Lies._

It was gut wrenching to see that headline in print, knowing that every witch and wizard across the country who read the Prophet would now think of him as a liar. His hands trembled as he stared at the headline and then read the article, and for a few minutes he felt like he was back _there_ again. Just like a week ago he was standing in that graveyard surrounded by Death Eaters jeering and laughing at him - he was on his knees before Malfoy and Carrow, begging them to stop - except now it was the whole country.

He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Although he knew Voldemort would do everything in his power to keep his return a secret, part of him hadn't actually expected it to work. Rita Skeeter had already inflicted enough damage over the last few months. All week long it had been leading to this, and finally it had happened.

It was as they expected would be the case. Fudge had blamed Barty Crouch Junior for Cedric's death, calling him a lone madman who had terrorised and confused Harry in revenge for his master's downfall. Barty Crouch Junior took the fall, while Fudge got a reasonable explanation that allowed him to disregard Harry's claims. It was perfect, really. Voldemort got it perfect.

What made it worse was they they had waited until he finished school before publishing this headline, leaving him no longer able to publicly defend himself. Harry's only consolation on that front was that his fellow school students had already heard the truth, that Dumbledore himself had told them what happened. This small but important fact gave him hope, that the people at Hogwarts knew the truth.

Today, he braved the Monday morning headline.

He was met with disappointment. It was more of what had been published yesterday, though in a small mercy the headline wasn't quite so confrontational. It was almost a literal 'nothing to see here,' a reassurance to the wizarding community that all was well and there was no truth to Harry Potter's hysterical claims.

Impatient, for people weren't going to take this at face value for long, not when Dumbledore started telling them what really happened, Harry flicked through the pages. He was looking for something about Dumbledore, an article about him or a statement he'd made proclaiming the truth, but there was nothing.

Determined to find something he kept looking, studying the columns one by one…and then his heart stopped. In the bottom corner of the fifth page was a short article about Cedric, stating nothing more than his funeral had been held yesterday. Barely three paragraphs in length, it was crammed in amongst other articles, an afterthought.

Harry hurriedly closed the newspaper, because this was the one thing that had him teetering on the edge of losing it. Admittedly it had taken a few days, but what had happened to Cedric was truly hitting him now. Even the memorial at Hogwarts and speaking to his parents hadn't made it real to him, but in the days that followed the notion that Cedric was actually dead began to settle in his mind.

It wasn't his fault, obviously he knew that…but he just couldn't get it out of his head that he should have never told Cedric to take the Cup with him. It didn't have to be this way. Cedric didn't have to be dead.

Carefully folding the newspaper back into the way it was delivered he retied the string and put it back on the kitchen window sill, making it look as though the Owl had simply delivered it and taken payment from the jar. The Weasleys had made a point of keeping the newspapers away from him, an entire week's worth had been hidden in Mr Weasley's garage along with the one from yesterday. He didn't want them to know that he had seen the headlines. They were worried about him enough.

Feeling anxious and restless, Harry tried to stop thinking about anything at all. To make himself useful he collected a wicker basket and headed out the kitchen door. Outside the fresh morning air soothed him ever so slightly, and he slipped on the rubber boots that were charmed to fit whoever wore them, and then he made his way around the house to the chicken coop out front.

It was hard to properly appreciate the nice summer morning, for the morning sunshine and smell of fresh air only served to remind Harry that this was his last day here. Needless to say he was in a rather deflated mood when he reached the chicken coop, but for now he didn't bother trying to hide it.

The chickens were waiting expectantly at the coop gate, and when he opened it up for them they clucked happily and one by one made their way out into the garden. Counting them as they went he made his way through the enclosure into the coop, ushering one last chicken out of its nesting box before retrieving the eggs that had been laid. Setting them aside he collected the water dishes and empty feeding trays, cleaning them out before replenishing them.

He spent longer out there than necessary, just trying to pass the time, and so he tidied up a little and added some fresh bedding to the nesting boxes. When there was nothing more he could do in the chicken coop he walked through the vegetable gardens, making sure Mrs Weasley's charms were still in place to keep the garden gnomes away. He dragged it out for as long as possible, walking through every row of garden beds to look for evidence that the gnomes had gotten in.

Standing in the lush vegetable garden he looked out towards the nearby creek, listening to the running water. Today marked just over a week since Voldemort had set him free, and this time a week ago he had been waking up in the hospital wing, safe and well. He knew he shouldn't, that doing this only made him feel angry and frustrated, but he let his mind wander to the Malfoys.

He was conscious of the fact that his freedom had not been easily achieved. In imprisoning him Voldemort was acting on a whim, going against his original plan to kill him in order to keep his return a closely kept secret. To that end he hadn't known quite what to do with Harry except keep him somewhere indefinitely, and that place had been Malfoy Manor.

It was to that place his mind often wandered, to the question of what would he be doing were he still there. If he'd been there a whole week by now then he might have settled in, perhaps even having started pushing the boundaries of what he was allowed to do to pass the time. Even Lucius Malfoy wouldn't have bothered with torturing him day and night, and he got the feeling Voldemort wouldn't have permitted it.

So what would he have been doing?

Against his better judgement he wondered what Draco Malfoy was doing, even though he stomach writhed in humiliation every time he thought about him. Lucius Malfoy would have boasted to his son about keeping Harry Potter prisoner in their home. He would have told Draco about the torture he inflicted, about how quickly the Boy Who Lived had broken and pleaded for relief.

If Harry was still there, would he have been used as a subject by which to teach Draco about the way of life for Death Eaters? Would Malfoy have made his son torture him?

Gritting his teeth Harry became furious with himself. He shouldn't have started thinking about these things, there was no point. And now he couldn't stop, his mind was circling back to Cedric again, to what he should have done differently. When his scar began to hurt in the graveyard he should have known straight away…he should have warned Cedric, told him to run…

Trying not to angrily stomp Harry crossed the garden and returned to the house, collecting the basket of fresh eggs along the way. A few deep breaths was all he needed to get his thoughts back on track, and he silently berated himself for letting that happen. What happened, happened. It was over with now, it was done…he never wanted to think about it again.

When he swung the kitchen door open someone inside took fright, making Harry realise he hadn't calmed down as much as he thought. Mr Weasley was inside, bent over the kitchen table reading the newspaper until he jumped in surprise, but he quickly recovered.

'Harry,' he said brightly. 'You're up bright and early. Already done the chooks, I see.'

He couldn't help but think Mr Weasley had the distinct air of someone who had just been caught, a feeling that was validated when he saw Mr Weasley was wearing not his dressing gown or pyjamas, but his travelling cloak.

'Good morning,' he said quietly, closing the kitchen door. 'Are you just getting home?'

Mr Weasley nodded his head, not so subtly stuffing the Daily Prophet into the pocket of his trousers before hanging up his cloak. 'It's been many years since I've come home at this hour of the morning. I daresay Molly will have something to say about it, though I did send Errol with a note.'

'I think she noticed. I heard her up last night.'

'Oh?' Mr Weasley asked, looking at him in concern. 'You didn't sleep well?'

Realising what he had said, Harry hastily backtracked. 'I just heard her up, that's all.'

Mr Weasley didn't quite seem to believe him, but he didn't push it. 'Well, since you're awake I'll tell you right away.' He lowered his voice, casting his eyes up at the ceiling. 'Sirius asked me to give word to you that he's laying low at Lupin's, and he's alright.'

Harry let out a low breath, having not expected an update about Sirius at all. 'Did you see him?'

'Yes, a group of us last night were…discussing things,' he said, choosing his words with care. 'He looks well. Had a shave and a few good meals. Lupin will look after him.'

Nodding, Harry managed a smile. This was good to hear. 'Thanks, Mr Weasley.'

As could be expected he got the sense that Mr and Mrs Weasley were not yet sure how they felt about Sirius not being a mass murderer after all, even though Dumbledore had vouched for him. Still, they seemed to hold reservations for now, but like they always did about the Dursley's they refrained from commenting about Sirius in front of him.

'We'll be off to Surrey tonight after dinner,' Mr Weasley began. 'Though I thought perhaps I might see about having another word with Professor Dumbledore. If you'd like.'

'Do you think he'd let me stay longer?'

'Well, I can only ask. I didn't think he'd let you come at all, yet here you are.'

Agreeing Harry nodded, though he wouldn't let himself get his hopes up. 'Well, it's just…' he hesitated. 'I don't want to make things worse with Percy. George said he overheard an argument.'

For a moment Mr Weasley blinked in surprise, but then he shook his head in exasperation. 'Don't you worry about Percy,' he said reassuringly. 'He's got a lot on his mind at the moment. He's been quite upset about Mr Crouch, but he'll sort himself out. You are very welcome here, Harry.'

It wasn't completely reassuring, for he didn't think things were at all okay with Percy. But he was allowed to be selfish right now. He deserved that much.

'I'd like to stay longer, if I can. Please.'

Mr Weasley smiled, pleased that he was in agreement. 'We'd like that too. I can't promise anything, but I will try.'

'Thank you.'

A sound came from overheard, and Mr Weasley looked towards the stairs with a heavy sigh. 'Merlin, she's up. Make her a cup of tea, won't you Harry? Good lad.'

Clasping him on the shoulder before he left, Mr Weasley hurried upstairs to meet his wife, the Daily Prophet sticking out of his pocket. Obliging, Harry found Mrs Weasleys favourite tea cup and put the kettle on the stove to boil.

The house was perfectly silent, making it impossible not to hear the hushed conversation between Mr and Mrs Weasley when they met on the upstairs landing. Though he crept closer he couldn't make out what they were saying. It was just hushed tones, first reassuring in nature and then worried.

Getting nothing from them Harry turned away from the staircase, glancing at the family clock as he went back into the kitchen. Percy's hand was still pointed at Work.

He finished up with the eggs now, washing them off in the sink before putting them in the basket on the kitchen table, making sure they went to the bottom of the pile beneath the older ones. In only a few minutes time Mrs Weasley came downstairs, pausing in the living room to peer at the clock, no doubt anxious that Percy still had not come home.

When she came into the kitchen she greeted him with a warm smile. 'Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well? I thought I heard you up.'

'Wasn't me,' he said smoothly. 'I slept fine.'

She didn't seem convinced, and even when he passed her tea she lingered a little longer to scrutinise him. From her gaze he knew what she was looking at.

'Your eye is looking much better today. It will be gone in no time.' Still not done with him she reached for his face, brushing her thumb over a faint scar on his cheek. 'Have you put the dittany on this morning?'

'Yes.'

It was another blatant lie, but Mrs Weasley didn't pick up on his deception. Instead she let him be, her withdrawal of attention allowing him to breathe a small sigh of relief. He was glad she hadn't questioned him about it. The scar on his cheek was barely visible anyway, it was the ones on his hand and arm that would have been concerning her, but Harry couldn't bring himself to put the dittany on as liberally as he should have. Doing so felt vain and insensitive...why should he be worried about a scar on his arm when Cedric Diggory was dead?

Sitting at the kitchen table Mrs Weasley had a blank sheet of parchment, and she sipped at her tea while dipping the quill into some ink. 'I'm writing to Professor Dumbledore,' she announced. 'Seeing if we can't convince him to let you stay a little longer. Have you had eaten yet?'

There was only one acceptable answer to this question. 'No, but I will now.'

She nodded approvingly. 'Eat, but don't fill up too much. I'll cook up a feed once the rest of them manage to drag themselves out of bed.'

Obligingly making himself a piece of toast, Harry retreated into the living room to eat as he resumed his place in the book he had been reading earlier. Against his better judgement he began to smile, certain that if Dumbledore had already changed his mind once surely he couldn't decide against just a few more days at the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was part of the big rewrite - I felt so disappointed in my original draft that I never had Harry going to the Burrow, so I put the brakes on new chapters and frantically rewrote!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed - please leave a review and let me know what you think of the chapter and Harry's short visit.


	16. Chapter 16 - Return to Privet Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 - Return to Privet Drive

Books » Harry Potter » **Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - AU Rewrite**  
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| Author: killtherat |  1\. Chapter 1 - The Graveyard 2\. Chapter 2 - The Cellar 3\. Chapter 3 - The Dark Lord 4\. Chapter 4 - Obey 5\. Chapter 5 - Malfoy's Mistake 6\. Chapter 6 - In the Drawing Room 7\. Chapter 7 - The Guest of Malfoy Manor 8\. Chapter 8 - Voldemort's Test 9\. Chapter 9 - The Portkey 10\. Chapter 10 - The Imposter 11\. Chapter 11 - Snape's Task 12\. Chapter 12 - The Hospital Wing 13\. Chapter 13 - Memorium 14\. Chapter 14 - Padfoot's Goodbye 15\. Chapter 15 - The Burrow 16\. Chapter 16 - Return to Privet Drive 17\. Chapter 17 - Little Whinging 18\. Chapter 18 - Wilful Provocation 19\. Chapter 19 - Padfoot's Understanding   
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| Rated: M - English - Drama/Angst - Reviews: 60 - Published: 06-21-20 - Updated: 11-22-20 | id:13621957  
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It was early-afternoon when Harry returned to the Burrow, having been in the orchard playing Quidditch with the others. When they had pleaded for him to join them he had forced himself to play, wanting to take advantage of every moment of freedom he could grasp, but his heart wasn't in it.

Previously he had been looking forward to getting back on his Firebolt, but when he first took flight it just wasn't the same. Right now at least, flying didn't bring the sense of joy or freedom he was used to feeling. Instead it was just something he was doing, another activity whose purpose was to pass the time, to fill in the day.

Not wanting to be a downer he had played along, swapping in and out of playing and refereeing so all five of them could play. But as the hours wore on he became increasingly despondent, a feeling he put down to being tired after sleeping poorly, and so he had called it quits. Without hesitation Ron had come down to loyally call it quits too, but Harry had insisted he keep playing.

'I'm just tired, that's all. Here,' he said, holding out his Firebolt, an offer he knew Ron could not resist. 'Share with the others, okay?'

He was doing everything he could to hide his dispirited mood, eating jovially at breakfast and laughing at Fred and George's antics, playing Quidditch and hanging out…but his heart wasn't in any of it. That heavy weight was back on his chest, and he couldn't quite pinpoint where it was coming from. The gravity of what happened to him a week ago, that Voldemort was back and active again, that his classmate was dead, that the Ministry was calling him a liar…that he was more than likely returning to Privet Drive.

Not in the mood to be around anyone, but not quite in the mood to do anything in particular, Harry simply returned to the Burrow. He needed to be alone for a while, to shut himself away in the peace and quiet, even if it meant not taking advantage of every last minute he had there.

'Any broken bones out there?' Mrs Weasley called, hearing him come inside.

'None yet.'

As he headed for the stairs he passed her in the living room, and he took pause to admire the latest patchwork quilt she had levitated in the air. She was pinning sections together before making the final commitment to sew, ensuring she was happy with the pattern.

'Looks nice.'

'Thank you, dear,' she said, using her wand to rotate a few pieces of fabric. 'I'm doing this one for a Muggle lady in the village.'

Lingering there in the living room he looked at the framed pictures on the wall, seeing a few new ones that he hadn't yet noticed. His heart swelled when he noticed himself in a few - there was a shot of him, Ron and the twins sitting outside the tent at the Quidditch World Cup, before anything terrible happened. It felt like an impossibly long time ago.

'Alright, love?'

He nodded, looking away from the pictures. 'I'm just going to lie down for a while.'

It was clear she was trying not to fuss, for she simply nodded her head. 'I'll wake you if you sleep too long.'

Hedwig was in his room, only sometimes sleeping on the kitchen perch with Errol and Hermes. Today the back of the desk chair was serving as her perch, and she was sleeping soundly when Harry entered. Resisting the urge to stroke her feathers he lay down on the bed and tossed his glasses onto the nearby table. Some sleep would do him a world of good, for the moment he laid down he could feel how badly his body needed to rest.

But as was increasingly problematic, his mind could not switch off. Laying there inactive meant that his mind automatically began ticking over, and in just a few minutes he found that he was itching to get up again, to find something else with which to occupy himself. Frustrated, he turned over onto his front and pummelled the pillow a few times, trying to get comfortable.

As he lay there trying to fall asleep a profound feeling of guilt began to creep in. What if this really was his last afternoon at the Burrow? He might not be back here again for another year, although perhaps he might be invited at Christmas…yet he was hiding away in his room, avoiding everyone. He should be out there with the others, taking advantage of the time he had left. Despite his brief hope he knew in reality that Dumbledore would not let him stay. These were his last hours here, and he was spending them alone in his room.

After a while stewing in his increasingly irritated thoughts he opened his eyes again, and then he opened his clenched fist and focused. The ball of light began to bloom, growing in size and strength as he concentrated, and then he scooped it out of his palm and let it hover in the air. Moving around so as to get comfortable again he stared at the light, focusing his attention on it instead of everything else.

It was beyond his comprehension that he could still do this, Dumbledore having that explained his sudden use of wandless magic had come from a place of sheer desperation. Certainly that had been the case when he attacked Lucius Malfoy, though his memories of that incident were blurry at best, just the way he preferred it.

At the time he first conjured the light he had surely been desperate for it, having been making his way around the cellar completely blind. But now? Right now the only thing he was desperate for was sleep and a peaceful state of mind…yet he could still conjuring light with wandless magic.

Perhaps an hour passed while Harry lay there listening to the sounds of the Burrow, unable to sleep. He heard the distant sounds of Ron and the others downstairs, the siblings quarrelling over something until Mrs Weasley commandeered Ron into the living room. She was making him check her quilt for mistakes in the pattern, something that Ron was quite good at, and Harry listened fondly as the two of them debated changing some sections.

The ball of light faded when Harry's concentration lapsed, and in its absence Harry distinctly felt himself drifting off into a state of semi-consciousness. Still he listened to the sounds of the Burrow, hearing the ghoul upstairs making some noise to liven the place up. For quite some time all was peaceful, and for once Harry felt relaxed enough that he might have briefly drifted off to sleep. Yet it wasn't to last, for he felt himself rousing without apparent reason. It took a few moments to realise why.

Conversation downstairs had changed. Mrs Weasley was welcoming someone into the Burrow...a guest. Curious as to who it was Harry listened dimly, but in his semi-asleep state it took a few moments to register whose voice it was down there. It was Dumbledore.

Blearily sitting up Harry rubbed his face, but he had barely reached for his glasses when his bedroom door opened a fraction. Ron's blurry face looked in, and when he saw Harry was awake he opened the door and came in without knocking, and there was a great sense of urgency about him.

'Oi, get up,' Ron hurriedly whispered.

Harry looked at him in exasperation while he put his glasses on. 'I'm up. Is that Dumbledore downstairs?'

'Yeah, and Dad's home from work early,' Ron explained, still whispering. 'But they've kicked us all out. Reckon he's here to talk about you staying. Come on.'

Knowing what Ron was getting at Harry rose from the bed and opened Bill and Charlie's old closet. When they moved aside a box in the corner they exposed the Weasley children's most prized secret, a hole in the floor that exposed the living room. Fred had put it there years ago by accident, his magic sparking during a tussle with George over a stuffed toy. It seemed the Weasley's had never quite gotten around to patching the hole given it was mostly concealed by the downstairs bookshelf, and in the years that passed the Weasley children had been using it to eavesdrop when the opportunity presented itself.

Not to his surprise Fred, George and Ginny also crept into the room, they too wanting to listen in, although the small closet space wouldn't allow for them all five to fit close enough. Instead they sat down on the bed and waited, leaning closer in their eagerness to hear.

'Mum's put an imperturbable charm on the stairs,' George commented in a whisper. 'Bless her. What are they saying?'

Crammed around the small hole in the cramped closet, Harry and Ron glanced at one another, already anticipating how this would go.

'Nothing yet.'

'What now?' Ginny asked a few moments later.

'Tea,' Ron replied. 'Dumbledore's having a biscuit.'

'Not the last Jaffa Cake?' Fred complained, leaning forward.

Harry and Ron pressed themselves closer to the hole again. 'Nah. Hob Nob.'

'Oh, he can have them. What are they saying now?'

Ron closed his eyes in exasperation, and so it was Harry who responded, giving them an impatient glare. 'Milk. Sugar.'

'Well, just tell us whe-'

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' Ron hissed angrily, his eyes wide with frustration at his siblings.

Ginny shook her head in disdain for the lot of them, sharing an exasperated shrug with Harry. Glad they finally got the hint he turned his attention back to listening, hearing only the sounds of polite small talk as Mrs Weasley dispensed tea.

'Merlin, wish I could just rip off my ear and leave it down there to listen,' George complained.

Fred looked at him, furrowing his brow. 'What did you say?'

George looked at his twin, blinking slowly. 'Rip my ear off, leave it down there.'

The twins stared at each other in silence, and then in perfect unison they rose to their feet and hurried out of the room, thundering on the stairs as they went to their bedroom on the floor above. With them gone Ginny came over to the closet, silently insisting they make room for her to listen too, and it was just easier to let her in - she was small after all.

The three of them were sitting with their heads inside the closet, listening to the Weasleys and Dumbledore making small talk in the living room. It felt rather strange that Dumbledore was just downstairs, for he hadn't spoken to him since the morning he had met with the Diggorys, and had last seen him when he spoke at the Leaving Feast.

Harry wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting, but he had rather been hoping to speak to Dumbledore again before leaving for the summer. He had hoped they could talk things through again, that he could find out what was supposed to happen next. But instead it had been radio silence, not that he was taking it personally. There was no doubt in his mind that things had been chaotic for Dumbledore, that he had more important things to do.

It just felt strange, that was all. Dumbledore was the only person still around that Harry had told about everything that happened to him. Everything...and since then Harry had barely seen him.

Nevertheless, there was something reassuring about hearing Dumbledore's calm and reassuring voice again…even if he were only making small talk with the Weasleys. Finally the small talk came to a conclusion, Harry, Ron and Ginny listening intently as the conversation finally turned to the subject of him.

'…certainly appreciate the trip out to see us, especially at such short notice.'

'When it comes to matters concerning Harry, I consider it of highest priority.'

'As do we, which is the reason we wrote to you,' Mr Weasley replied. There was a pause now, as if Mr Weasley was considering what to say next. 'We're concerned for Harry. We must implore you to reconsider your plans to send him back to the Dursleys so soon.'

Harry began to hold his breath, waiting on tenterhooks for the answer. He had been back and forth all day like a yo-yo, constantly swinging between absolute certainty that Dumbledore would allow him to stay, and the more realistic resignation that it was too good to be true.

'What is it concerning you? Specifically, please.'

There was another pause, and the inability to see them all was excruciating.

'He's getting on with things,' Mrs Weasley began gently. 'But he's not himself, Albus. Not at all.'

'That is understandable, given what he's been through.'

'I don't think he's sleeping well. He's upstairs now, resting.'

'Has he been suffering any pain or discomfort?' Dumbledore enquired, sounding concerned. 'Sometimes the Cruciatus can have a lingering effect for an unlucky few.'

'I did ask. He assured me he's not, and I believe him. But he's not himself,' Mrs Weasley reiterated. 'He says he's been using the Dittany, but I can't see that very much is gone from the bottle.'

Ginny scoffed under her breath. 'Amateur,' she whispered. 'If you're gonna lie to Mum you have to be smart about it.'

Immediately coming to his defence, Ron elbowed her. 'Shut up you little wart.' But he gave Harry a look that said _she's not wrong_.

Ignoring the both of them, Harry turned his attention back to the conversation downstairs, having missed a few words.

'…or acting out?'

'No,' Mr Weasley answered this time. 'Which is why we think it best he stay a little longer. He seems to be coping as best he can. I'm not sure that could be said if he were to go back to Surrey.'

'I know you don't think much of Harry's aunt and uncle,' Dumbledore said diplomatically. 'But they are his family.'

There was an abrupt scoff, and it seemed Mrs Weasley wasn't holding back anymore. 'Some family,' she said harshly. 'Arthur visited them, as you know. Gave them a telephone number, and we've not heard a word all weekend. They've not even asked how he is.'

'We hope that just a few more days might help Harry find his feet a little more,' Mr Weasley said quickly, attempting to placate the tangible tension emanating from his wife. 'He's not going to find many a friendly face at home.'

There was a heavy silence that stretched on, broken only by the faint sound of china tea cups clinking against the saucers. Harry waited anxiously for Dumbledore's answer, hoping and praying that he would come through for him…he dreaded the prospect of going back to Privet Drive. The Weasley's had put up a reasonable argument, hadn't they?

'I understand your concerns. They're concerns I hold myself. But it is important that Harry return to his aunt and uncle's home sooner rather than later.'

'He doesn't want to go,' Mr Weasley said gently.

'I must insist.'

There was silence once more, and then Mr Weasley spoke up again, still trying. 'Is there anything that we could say or do that would change your mind? Any conditions, or circumstances that would make things different?'

'I'm afraid not.'

It felt like the end of the conversation, Dumbledore's unwavering insistence bringing a sense of finality, but it seemed Mrs Weasley wasn't done.

'Won't you consider what Harry wants?'

If Dumbledore was perturbed that she continued to push him, he didn't show it. 'What Harry wants is not what's in his best interests.'

'His best interests goes beyond his immediate safety,' she argued persistently. 'If you send him back to those people after the terrible things he's been through…well, it won't do him an ounce of good at all.'

'My decision is firm, Molly.'

'Well I've said my piece,' she stated bluntly, her tone of voice making Harry frown. 'I dread to think of the state he'll be in after spending the summer with those people.'

Beside him Ron and Ginny were silently gasping, having never heard their mother talk to someone like Dumbledore with such outright friction. 'Way to go, Mum,' Ron whispered proudly.

'How long will it be before we can have him back here?' Mr Weasley asked.

'At this stage, I cannot say. I will be sure to pop in on Petunia right away. It has after all, been some time since she and I last spoke.'

The brief conversation came to a definitive end now. Dumbledore declined Mrs Weasley's polite offer of more tea, excusing himself in order to go straight to the Dursleys, and once again the conversation was perfectly polite and friendly. Each of them had made their positions clear to the other, and it seemed there was nothing more to debate.

As Dumbledore departed Mr Weasley walked with him outside, and so Harry hastened over to the window and looked out, watching his Headmaster leave. Disappointment swelled inside him, and not just because he would have to return to Surrey. It was understandable given they thought he was up here sleeping, but he had hoped that Dumbledore might ask to see him, if only briefly. There was so much for them to talk about, so many questions Harry never got to ask before leading Hogwarts…but in less than a minute Mr Weasley had walked him to the gate where he made his farewell and then disappeared into thin air.

'It's too bad,' Ron said glumly. 'Even just a few more days would have been decent of him.'

'Shhh,' Ginny said hurriedly, leaning back into the closet. 'Dad's coming back.'

Dejected and not really caring anymore, Harry lingered by the window while Ron and Ginny listened, both of them cringing when they reported their mother was loudly clanging around with pots and pans in the kitchen, a clear sign that she was upset. They listened a few more minutes while Harry glared at his fully packed trunk, glad that he hadn't gotten too ahead of himself by unpacking.

'He's not going back to work,' Ginny whispered in surprise. 'Crap…they're arguing.'

'Can't hear what they're saying though,' Ron muttered, grimacing as a pot clanged particularly loudly. A few minutes later he and Ginny emerged from the closet, shrugging their shoulders. 'Dad's going out to the garage. Bloody hell.'

Looking out the window again Harry watched as Mr Weasley crossed the yard and headed for his garage, and following that conversation it too was a sign that he was definitely dissatisfied with the way things ended. As he tried to take it all in he fixed an expression of calm resolution on his face, forcing himself to accept Dumbledore's decision.

It was his own fault for getting his hopes up.

'Sorry I woke you up,' Ron apologised as Ginny headed off to her own room. 'Want me to let you get back to sleep?'

_Yes_ , was his honest answer. He wanted to be alone again, to wallow in his furious disappointment…or better yet, yell at someone. Making a resurgence from beneath his disappointment was a swell of anger, one that admittedly startled him. Last time he'd felt anger like this was in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, a split second before he had accidentally attacked Malfoy and Carrow with wandless magic.

But completely overtaking disappointment and anger was the overwhelming feeling of guilt, an emotion he was increasingly familiar with right now. It lingered in the peripheral of his mind, always there, always making him feel badly about whatever it was he was thinking, or saying.

This was his last day at the Burrow…his last hours. He couldn't spend it locked away in his room, no matter how much he'd rather be on his own.

'If you let me win at least once, we can play chess.'

Ron grinned at him, and much to Harry's relief his enthusiasm was easy to mimick. They spent the rest of the afternoon in Ron's attic bedroom, playing chess and listening to the radio, always quick to change the station whenever the news came on. Beneath them they heard frequent whoops and cheers from Fred and George's room, usually followed by Ginny telling them to quit making so much noise.

As they played chess Ron and Harry took turns guessing what the twins were up to, and Harry smiled to himself as he thought about the secret he held with the twins, the prize money he had forced them to accept. He could have never kept that money, but it was being put to good use and the twins were already making him smile.

As the afternoon wore on it remained easier to pretend, to fall back into the familiar routine of the Weasley's company and pretend all together that it wasn't coming to an end. That evening Harry sat down to eat dinner with the Weasley's for the last time, enjoying the raucous conversation as Mrs Weasley interrogated the twins about what they had been doing that afternoon.

Even when Percy came home everything was fine, for no one commented on the fact he had spent the previous night at his office. Harry even managed to avoid talking with him entirely, although it seemed the conscious avoidance was from Percy, not him.

Mrs Weasley had been most apologetic about Dumbledore's decision, and she seemed to be trying her best to make it up to him, as if she owed him a debt and not the other way around. Harry had gone out of his way to assure her that it was fine, that he didn't mind going back to the Dursley's and that he would be perfectly alright for the rest of the summer. The more times he said this the easier it became to believe the words himself.

In preparation for his departure Mrs Weasley had packed him some sweet and savoury foods, having remembered from last summer Dudley's strict diet to which Harry had also been subjected. Packed in his trunk was an assortment of cauldron cakes and home made pasties, and some clothing that no longer fit Ron.

'If I'd had my way you'd be staying at least another week. Better yet the whole summer,' Mrs Weasley fretted, bundling up his new clothes and giving them to him to pack. 'But Professor Dumbledore seemed to think it was best.'

Mercifully the goodbyes were brief, Mr Weasley anxious that they travel while there was still daylight. Harry exchanged a brief embrace with Ron and a quick assurance that he would be alright, for he knew both Ron and Hermione were going to be worried about him, though not as much as Mrs Weasley who managed to hug him twice before he left. But as if she too knew that this was best done quickly she didn't let it drag out, and hurried Mr Weasley and Harry off down the driveway, waving goodbye.

It was a stroke of fortune that the Knight Bus was empty of other passengers, making it somewhat tolerable when Stan Shunpike loudly exclaimed his name upon seeing him. Though Stan gladly helped with Harry's trunk he was remarkably shyer than he had been the first time Harry rode the Knight Bus, simply directing him and Mr Weasley to the best seats before shirking back down to the front. Throughout the brief journey directly to Surrey he frequently looked around at him, quickly averting his gaze any time Harry or Mr Weasley looked up, and so it was quite a relief when they finally stopped.

The Knight Bus dropped them off at Magnolia Crescent, Mr Weasley mentioning that although Stan and Ernie were harmless there was no need for them to know exactly where Harry would be spending his summer. While he was appreciative of this, he was more appreciative of the short delay their drop off location gave him, and so made no effort to walk at the normal pace he might have otherwise. Seeming to understand Mr Weasley didn't hurry him in the slightest, but rather walked leisurely with his hands in his pockets, admiring the Muggle homes.

'Mr Weasley, can the Ministry detect wandless magic?' Harry asked, trying to keep his voice light hearted.

'Well, it is a little harder to detect, but yes,' he answered, having briefly stopped to watch someone on the roof of their house adjusting the television antennae. He looked at Harry dubiously as they resumed walking, turning right to go down the alleyway that would bring them to Wisteria Walk. 'Been practicing, have you?'

Harry looked at him cautiously. 'Practicing?'

Mr Weasley gave him a knowing smile. 'We've all heard what you managed to do. Knowing you as I do, I suspected it wouldn't be long before you gave it a shot of repeating.'

A little surprised that Mr Weasley had figured him out, and that he wasn't in trouble for it, Harry nodded. He looked around to make sure there were no Muggles about, and then he raised his hand and opened his palm, showing Mr Weasley what he had been practicing all week.

'All in all, not a bad skill to set about learning,' Mr Weasley commented, though he made a point of taking Harry's hand and lowering it, extinguishing the light.

'It's the only thing I can manage,' he said quietly, but before he knew it he was continuing. 'I've been trying all week to do other things, but I can't. Figured I'd keep trying though.'

'Well you know what I'm going to say. You mustn't be practicing it over the summer. If the Ministry catches you at it…I wouldn't be surprised if they were much less understanding than they were of that incident with your Aunt Marge.'

When they turned the corner onto Privet Drive Harry looked at number four dispiritedly, part of him still unable to believe that he would be stuck there again for the entire summer. Mr Weasley seemed to notice his reluctance, for he clasped Harry on the shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His hand lingered there as if he feared he might have to drag him down the drive way.

Before knocking on the front door Harry turned to Mr Weasley to say one last thing while they were still alone. 'Thank you for the other night. At Hogwarts,' he added to clarify. 'I'm glad you were there.'

Mr Weasley looked rather taken aback, having not expected this to be brought up. For a moment he didn't know what to say, and then he gave a short nod, his mouth twisted as if keeping his expression neutral. 'I'm glad I was there too.'

Neither of them needed to say anything more, both understanding what it had meant for Harry that night to have someone there watching out for him when he was so vulnerable. Mr Weasley had done more than protect him from Barty Crouch Junior, he had comforted and reassured him. His presence at Harry's side had been the first real sign that he was safe again.

Without another word Harry knocked on the front door of the Dursley's house. Inside the hall light was on, and when his aunt came to the door he watched her outline in the frosted glass grow larger. The door opened slowly, Aunt Petunia peeking out as though expecting to see Mr Weasley wearing a pointed hat and carrying a broomstick and cauldron. But when she saw they both appeared normal she opened the door wide.

'Hello.'

It was exactly as he had expected - awkward and uncomfortable. He returned his aunt's greeting, looking past her at his uncle who was hastening down the hallway, he too rushing to assess the acceptability of the arrivals.

Uncle Vernon's eyes widened comically when he saw Mr Weasley standing outside, and it was this that brought a sudden memory rushing back to Harry, the day when Mr Weasley had destroyed the Dursley's fireplace after attempting to arrive by Floor. He might have laughed at the memory were it not for the bleakness of his situation.

'Mr and Mrs Dursley, it's a pleasure to see you again. Enjoying the hot weather?'

It was a brave attempt at making conversation, particularly given how poorly their first meeting last summer had ended. Though Harry appreciated the effort, knowing that Mr Weasley would never be anything but polite, he wished he wouldn't bother. Mr Weasley already knew what the Dursley's were like.

Aunt Petunia ignored the small talk. 'Come in then,' she said, standing back and holding the door open wide.

Harry picked up the end of his trunk and took Hedwig's cage, but before he could go inside Mr Weasley embraced him, patting him on the back. 'Take good care of yourself. For our sake, won't you?'

'I will. Thanks Mr Weasley.'

Leaving it at that Harry crossed the threshold and entered his childhood home, giving Mr Weasley what he hoped was a reassuring nod. Satisfied enough, and with nothing left to say Mr Weasley waved goodbye and then started off down the garden path, heading back for the street.

Harry didn't watch him go, but simply closed the front door and then turned to his aunt and uncle, wishing this wasn't so excruciatingly awkward. For a few moments they both just looked at him, and standing closest to him Aunt Petunia was staring at the blood in his right eye. Her gaze moved down to his arm, honing in on the pink scars that crossed his forearm and hand.

'I've just put the kettle on,' Uncle Vernon announced. 'Are you having one?'

Though he managed to keep his expression neutral, on the inside Harry had just about fallen over in shock, for never in his life had his uncle offered him anything but a smack around the head. But there was no doubt the offer was directed at him. It seemed Professor Dumbledore had indeed stopped by to speak to them.

'No, thank you though.'

Relived he had an excuse to do so Uncle Vernon hurried away, having barely looked Harry in the eye. Aunt Petunia on the other hand seemed intent on doing the opposite. She lingered in the threshold with him, looking him up and down while her arms were folded tightly across her chest. There was a strange expression in her eyes, one not normally directed at him. Concern.

'What did they tell you?'

She cleared her throat a little. 'Everything,' she said simply. A beat passed, Aunt Petunia glancing down the hallway towards the kitchen. 'There's pudding in the fridge, if you want some.'

This too was highly unusual, and were it any other occasion Harry might have made a sarcastic joke, questioning whether she was perhaps someone disguised as the real Petunia Dursley. But instead he just shook his head.

'Thanks, but I already ate. I'll just...' he trailed off, gesturing up the stairs.

To his relief the awkwardness quickly ended. Aunt Petunia nodded and then left him to his own devices, looking as relieved as him that it was over. Taking his trunk Harry dragged it up the stairs, grateful that Mr Weasley had cast a weightless charm on it for him.

As he ascended the stairs he took note of a new framed photo of Dudley, one from a boxing match he had apparently won. It seemed the actual Dudley had made a point of not being there when Mr Weasley arrived, not that Harry could blame him after the Ton Tongue Toffee incident, and simply accepting this small win he entered his bedroom. The deadbolt lock and cat flap on the door remained, unlikely to be removed while ever he was expected to live there.

Not a thing in his bedroom had changed in the ten months since he had been here. He doubted anyone had set foot in there except his aunt who would have come in to hoover and dust. Closing the door behind himself Harry dumped his trunk in the centre of the room and put Hedwig's cage on the desk. He opened the window in anticipation of her return from hunting the next morning.

For a few long moments Harry simply stood there in the room and looked around. He couldn't bring himself to lay down on the bed or begin unpacking. It felt like he needed to make a point of not settling in, to maintain the strongly held assertion that this was not his home, that it never would be.

Resigned to his fate Harry sat down on top of his trunk, giving a long, dejected sigh. He ought to fill Hedwig's water dish now rather than later, but even that felt like getting too comfortable here.

It was silent here at Privet Drive, so much so that he couldn't even hear the television downstairs. Wistfully he thought back to just that morning at the Burrow when he sat in the living room reading. At the Burrow the silence felt peaceful, like the calm before the storm of a home full of people going about their lives - Mr Weasley and Percy hurrying off to work, the twins blowing things up, Ron and Ginny arguing over something stupid.

At Privet Drive the silence felt deafening in comparison. It was uncomfortable, the Dursley's home lacking the warmth and comfort of the Burrow. Against his will his mind carried him back to Malfoy Manor, the present silence reminding him overwhelmingly of that cellar. There he had been completely alone, isolated from anyone...it didn't feel so different right now.

It felt foolish to think this way, knowing he was just being melodramatic. But Harry couldn't help but feel no less imprisoned here than he had at Malfoy Manor.


	17. Chapter 17 - Little Whinging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 17 - Little Whinging

Three excruciatingly dull weeks had passed since Harry's arrival in Privet Drive, where just about the only interesting thing to happen was the sweltering heat wave. Every morning when the Daily Prophet arrived Harry leapt out of bed, paying the delivery owl and then proceeding to torment himself by reading the newspaper.

Without fail he read the Prophet front to back, catching every single article while his heart sank lower and lower in his chest. It was more of the same, the Daily Prophet continuing to ignore what Harry and Dumbledore had reported, while those like Lucius Malfoy flittered about the Ministry like normal. And yet every morning he continued leaping out of bed to receive the next issue, certain that this would be the one where things changed, where tone shifted as people started catching on...but it never did.

Dumbledore's reputation was circling the drain, while Harry's credibility had been completely slaughtered. By now they were both social pariahs, and he wondered if that was why he still hadn't heard a single word from Dumbledore, if that explained why his letters had gone unanswered.

In his lower moments he wondered if Dumbledore was mad at him for some reason, if perhaps he resented Harry for not getting away from Voldemort when he had the chance. If he had, Dumbledore would have known what happened nearly twenty four hours earlier. Maybe that would have made things different.

The situation was exactly how Voldemort must want it, of that Harry had little doubt. If he had to let Harry go free he also had to buy himself some time before his return was discovered. Ensuring that Harry's credibility was ruined and no one believed him would have been of great importance to Voldemort, even though he would know others like Dumbledore would already be working against him.

More than once Harry had read Malfoy's name in the newspaper, catching the announcement of funding for a new St Mungo's wing, or his RSVP to an upcoming Ministry function. Every time he saw Malfoy's name Harry's stomach did a sort of back flip, and he felt humiliated all over again. Humiliated that the Ministry didn't believe him, that Fudge was parading Lucius Malfoy around as though Harry hadn't named him as a Death Eater only weeks ago.

Harry's accusations of Malfoy's torture and his imprisonment at Malfoy Manor hadn't even been mentioned in the newspaper. None of his detailed accusations against the Death Eaters he recognised had been published or mentioned, the Prophet even glossing over it in their article _The Boy Who Lies_. It was all coming down to Dumbledore, and still no one was willing to listen.

Harry's only source of connection to the outside world were letters from Ron and Hermione, and the occasional one from Mrs Weasley and Sirius too. But none of them possessed any real information, nothing of value other than the standard _hope you're well, take care of yourself_ , or in Sirius's case _keep your nose clean_. It was rather galling to be told to keep his nose clean from Sirius of all people, and particularly irrelevant given he'd done nothing to warrant such a warning.

Through it all, Harry had few sources of rebellion, and even fewer sources of comfort...but the light he conjured with wandless magic served both needs well. Although at first tentative to take such a risk he had been practicing every single day, enjoying the sense of rebellion and control it brought to him.

By now the light was bright enough to illuminate his entire room, and stayed bright without any additional concentration or effort. Once his Aunt Petunia had come into his room without knocking, and with a hasty flick of the wrist the little ball of light zoomed up into the ceiling light fixture. Aunt Petunia had blinked a little, perhaps thinking she had seen something, but to both their relief she chose not to question it.

There had been no consequences for his wandless magic, no letters from the Ministry warning him about the use of underage magic, though admittedly he hadn't tried anything beyond the conjuring of light. He figured if the Death Eaters hadn't detected that he'd been using wandless magic down in the cellar then the Ministry wouldn't either, but he didn't want to risk trying another spell, for perhaps that might be enough to trigger the trace.

For the first week or so after what happened Harry's memories felt distant and disconnected, like he was an observer to the memories as opposed to having experienced them. Now the memories were coming to him in different ways, each of them stronger and more impactful than the last...yet still confusing. At times it was hard to differentiate between the nightmares he experienced at night and the events that actually happened, confused between reality and what his mind might have made up.

Dreams of this nature continued, taking him to places his mind made up before going straight back to what had actually happened, broken flashbacks of events bothering him night and day. Even when he managed to escape the nightmares of Cedric and Malfoy Manor he had unsettling dreams about dark corridors, all of which finished in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with his current situation of being trapped at the Dursleys.

To pass the days Harry had spent as much time as possible away from the Dursley house. Despite the sweltering summer heat he had been once again familiarising himself with the streets and bus routes of Little Whinging, quickly burning through what little Muggle money he had before sending an order to Gringotts to exchange a little more. Thinking in advance he'd found Hermione a gift for her birthday in September and had been to the cinemas three times, but generally spent most of his time walking the streets or taking the bus around to various areas.

Galavanting the Muggle world was how he was largely passing the time, finding that he was able to blend in with the shoppers and go completely unnoticed. Or, almost completely unnoticed. He had been in Surrey for a few weeks when he noticed something strange, a particular face in the crowd he had seen before that day, and a few days prior.

It didn't immediately strike him as alarming, but when Harry saw the man again he kept an eye out, and to his annoyance saw him twice more. He even tried to lose him, jumping onto a Muggle bus seconds before the door closed and it pulled out, and for the rest of that day Harry felt at ease, confident he had lost him. But three days later he glimpsed him again, his straw coloured hair and square jaw unmistakable.

The day he saw him again Harry felt for sure that he was over reacting, that he was making a big deal over nothing. Wanting a way to be sure he stopped in at a coffee shop and placed an order, taking a seat at the back with the Muggle newspaper and settling in. For a while the man seemed to linger outside, Harry watching him through the window, but soon enough the sweltering heat drove him inside for a cold drink. From the corner of his eye Harry watched as the man lined up with the other Muggles to place an order.

It wasn't a fool proof method, many witches and wizards were comfortable with Muggle money, but not this wizard. He held some coins in his hand, awkwardly counting them out as the cashier waited patiently, but then he deposited them all in her hand with a laugh, thanking her when she gave him back his change. Whoever this person was, they were from Harry's world.

They sat down at a table on the other side of the cafe, far away enough that were it not for the trouble with the Muggle money Harry might have thought he was over reacting after all. But as time passed the man didn't turn the page of the magazine he was reading, and Harry knew his attention was on him. Any time he looked up he was certain the man had just averted his gaze, that they were watching one another in turns.

Who were they? Were they here to spy on The Boy Who Lies? To report back to the Daily Prophet all the deranged and delusional things he was up to over the summer holidays?

There was only one way to figure this out, and so Harry finished his drink and abruptly departed, walking quickly. When he left the coffee shop he looked back, watching as the straw haired man closed his magazine and also prepared to depart, following him.

Despite the confirmation that he was being followed by a strange wizard Harry managed to keep his cool. He didn't think they were a Death Eater...but he'd thought that about Professor Moody too.

By now he knew the streets quite well, and hurried towards the more crowded area where the street markets were held. On the pretence of examining something at a stall he stopped for a moment, looking back the way he had came and catching a glimpse of the man in the distance, still in pursuit.

Setting off again he walked very quickly and then turned left, slipping down a gap between two buildings and setting off at a sprint. When he reached the street on the other side he turned left again and continued running, weaving in and around Muggles who went about their day unhurried and uncaring. In a few minutes he had doubled back on himself and was smiling in satisfaction, for the straw haired man who had been following him was panic-stricken.

From a safe distance he watched as the man looked in shop windows and frantically stopped Muggles in the street. When no one was able to help him he wrung his hands together anxiously, turning around on the spot and wildly looking.

Pleased with his success Harry took off again, but this time in the opposite direction. What he needed now was distance and information, so he jogged a few blocks away before stopping at one of the phone boxes near the bus station.

Mr Weasley had given him the number to the phone he'd connected at the Burrow, and so Harry called. Knowing the phone was in the garage he rang twice, imagining Mr Weasley sprinting across the garden, dodging chickens and stray rubber boots. Indeed when he answered the phone he sounded out breath, his voice distant and muffled until Mr Weasley turned the phone handset around the right way.

'Hello? This is Arthur Weasley, hello?'

For a moment Harry didn't know what to say, taken aback by a surge of relief. It was good to hear a familiar voice again.

'It's me,' he said quickly, glancing up at the street around him to ensure he was still safe. 'Harry.'

'Harry,' breathed Mr Weasley, sounding relieved. 'It's good to hear from you. How are you?'

For a moment Harry considered answering this question, but only for a moment. The truth was difficult to express. 'Is there someone following me?'

There was a long pause, and he could practically feel Mr Weasley holding his breath. 'You saw them.'

Harry pursed his lips in annoyance. 'Was I not supposed to?'

'No. You were meant to remain undisturbed.'

Despite his annoyance he felt relieved. He hadn't gotten the feeling that the man posed him any danger, but it was reassuring to have this confirmed.

'Who are they?'

'Let's see, Saturday...' Mr Weasley pondered, thinking. 'That'll be Sturgis Podmore. He knew your parents from the old days, he's a good man. Though apparently still learning the art of stealth. Harry?' Mr Weasley asked, having not heard him speak for a few moments. 'Please, don't be terribly annoyed with us. It's not about keeping an eye on _you_. It's about making sure there's someone close by, just in case. Pretend Podmore isn't there at all, keep enjoying your summer.'

Mr Weasley's plea fell on deaf ears after that last comment, for surely he understood that Harry was not enjoying the summer. How could he possibly enjoy the summer after being dumped here completely alone? But he had been silent for too long, and so he forced himself to say something.

'Who else is following me?'

'A couple folks Dumbledore knows and trusts. Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt are mainly doing the nights, but there's Diggle and Hestia Jones taking shifts. Elphias Doge, an old friend of Dumbledore's. Bill's back from Egypt, he's put his hand up to help cover.' A pause came to pass, Mr Weasley considering his next words. 'Alastor Moody too.'

'Moody?'

'Yes, though thankfully the real Alastor Moody this time. He's really quite dedicated himself to the task. Seems to be making up for lost time where you're concerned.'

Harry didn't say anything, hating that he was thinking about all that again. He felt sick to his stomach any time he thought about Barty Crouch Junior impersonating his teacher, putting his name in the Goblet of Fire and making sure he got through the tasks. No one could have expected him to know he was being deceived, he had never known the real Moody and even Dumbledore had been fooled...but that really didn't make much of a difference.

'Moody doesn't exactly blend in.'

Mr Weasley chuckled lightly. 'He blends in better than you'd think. He's a retired Auror after all. One of the best.'

'Right.'

Again he looked around at the crowd of Muggles in the street, feeling like he was under a spotlight. This has been going on all summer, ever since his arrival at the Dursleys. What else had he missed that was blindingly obvious?

'Harry, I don't want to rain on your parade,' began Mr Weasley, sounding apologetic already. 'But I must remind you to please, don't go too far from home.'

This comment irked him, just like the one about enjoying the summer. He was done putting on a facade so that the Weasley's wouldn't worry. 'This is not my home,' he said bluntly.

'I know,' Mr Weasley said quietly, sounding sympathetic. 'We're going to have you back as soon as we can, I promise you Harry. Just for now, don't go beyond Surrey.'

Harry held his breath, hating that Mr Weasley had promised him a return to the Burrow. There was no way to guarantee that promise, he had no right to get Harry's hopes up.

'Is that an order?'

'It's not a request,' he said sternly.

'Right.'

'You alright, Harry? Getting along with your cousin?'

He ignored the questions. 'I better go. The last bus is coming.'

It was a blatant lie, and Harry hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Taking pleasure in the way he slammed the handset back into the cradle he didn't linger, instead taking off at a quick walk. His blood felt like it was boiling after the brief conversation with Mr Weasley, annoyed that Dumbledore was having him followed, no doubt something that was set to last the entire summer.

He got on the first bus that was departing the station, and though he watched the streets he didn't catch another glimpse of Podmore, or any others for that matter. It seemed they stepped up the effort to go undetected, for the rest of that day Harry didn't see anyone that might have been tailing him. By the time he made it to Little Whinging that evening he wished he hadn't bothered returning, that he would finally find the guts to dig his heels in and refuse to go back.

Back at Number 4 the Dursleys were as unpleasant as ever, for their initial bout of kindness towards him had only lasted one evening. When he returned there that night he had to endure a prolonged lecture from Uncle Vernon, who threatened to lock him in the garden shed if he ever got back this late again. It was all Harry could do not to argue with him, for Dudley had been home an hour after this time last night, but apparently today was different.

Making off with a faux apology he hurried up to his bedroom and shut himself away for another night, feeling particularly downcast. He knew it would be just another night of laying awake or vivid nightmares, only this time with the thought of being tailed every day looming over him.

Hedwig was sitting on his desk, having been awaiting his return before she would leave to go hunting. He appreciated the thought, but it was difficult to show enthusiasm even to her. His window sill was empty, no letter from Ron, Hermione and Sirius had arrived that day. Another day of nothing.

Right now Hedwig was his only company, and she seemed to have noticed the difference in him lately. She'd been particularly affectionate, chirping at him in conversation and making him play with her more than she usually liked. One morning she had brought a gift for him, a mouse in her beak that turned out to be alive. Indignant with his lack of gratitude she simply sat on the windowsill watching as he pursued the mouse around his room, and she was most displeased when he captured it and set it free in the garden.

Offering her an Owl treat he stroked her feathers for a little while, letting her nip at his fingers before sending her off for the night. As he watched her go he lingered awhile, sitting atop his desk while the sky darkened.

He wondered if he was still being watched even while at Number 4, if Dumbledore had him under surveillance twenty four hours a day. Mr Weasley had said it wasn't about keeping an eye on him, but rather having someone close by lest he need them. Though he trusted the reasoning, he wasn't entirely sure he was pleased by the idea.

Dispirited and apprehensive about going to sleep that night, Harry looked at the hand drawn calendar he'd stuck to the wall by his bed, mentally reciting the timeframes that seemed to haunt his life right now.

Four weeks since _it_ happened.

Three weeks since arriving at the Dursleys. Five weeks left until his return to Hogwarts.

Nothing felt different. Time didn't heal anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter of Harry back in Surrey - I know it was bit of a filler, but the next chapter is a little more exciting. Thanks for the reviews, glad most readers have been enjoying the story :-) Cheers everyone.


	18. Chapter 18 - Wilful Provocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 18 - Wilful Provocation

After weeks of nothing, Harry's lonely summer was completely upheaved. Danger came unexpectedly, and help didn't come at all.

It had been a normal night, Harry falling into step beside his cousin. He'd been itching for an something, trying to goad Dudley into an argument, a fight - anything to break up the monotony and never-ending disappointment of this summer. But Dudley had refused to rise, and the fight Harry ended up facing was greater than he bargained for.

The moment he felt the cold air of the Dementors Harry was instantly taken back to Malfoy Manor, his mind paralysed with fear. Recollections came rushing back, thoughts and memories that he had pushed away overwhelming him so much that it didn't occur to him that this time was different, that he could defend himself now.

_He was standing in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, Snape of all people bringing the dementor in, using it to weaken him. He could hear the sound of someone screaming, an agonised howl for relief. Despair welled up inside when he remembered that it was him screaming. It was his pain._

It was only Dudley that broke him from the trance like state fear had rendered him to. Something clicked inside him, a realisation that Dudley couldn't defend himself, and seeing him in such profound danger forced Harry to pull his head out of the painful memories. He thought of Ron and Hermione, the relief he felt when he first saw them the morning after his return, the way they had literally stuck by his side for hours during the days that followed.

The resentment he'd felt since childhood still lingered, but he could never subject Dudley to the Dementor's kiss.

When it was over he had simply laid down on the ground next to Dudley, trying to pull himself together. Dudley had been whimpering, hands pressed over his face and mouth clenched shut, and it was all Harry could do to not follow suit. He simply lay there beside him, staring up at the night sky while he caught his breath. The stars had returned, that much he noticed by the time Mrs Figg arrived on the scene, upending everything he thought he knew.

In the days following Harry hadn't much left his bedroom, keeping well clear of the Dursleys just as they kept clear of him. It had gone on like that for three days now, and though it wasn't unexpected it had only served to exacerbate the feeling of isolation that had intensified.

Dementors had attacked him in Little Whinging, Mrs Figg was a squib, his Aunt was in contact with wizards, and he'd been suspended from Hogwarts. And still no one would return his letters.

Hedwig had departed three days ago to deliver his letters demanding information to Ron, Hermione and Sirius, and she had yet to return, and nor had any other owls arrived. The only exception was the Owl delivering the Daily Prophet, which bore no mention of Dementors in the Muggle world.

He couldn't stand this abandonment anymore. Weeks of being isolated from anyone he cared about was doing things to his head, making him feel like he was losing touch with everything, including himself. Even before the Dementor attack he had started questioning things. At times he started to wonder if the naysayers from the Daily Prophet were right, that maybe he had made up Voldemort's return, that what he thought happened to him wasn't real.

It was in these moments that despair grew, the moments in which it came back to him, that he remembered with startling clarity that it had been real. For five weeks now he had practically been living in captivity in Privet Drive, and each day the heavy weight of hopelessness seemed to grow heavier.

At times his mind played tricks on him, making him feel like the future wasn't coming anymore, like Dumbledore had sentenced him to stay here for ever. With every day that passed he felt hollow inside, and how could he not feel that way when he'd been abandoned here? He felt stir crazy, completely stuck in his own head and trapped in this room…imprisoned again.

There was an idea rattling around in his head, one that had been there for the past two days when he finally started to see that no one was returning his letters. No one was coming to get him.

What he needed was to do something drastic, something that would force Dumbledore to respond to him. Mr Weasley's promise of returning to the Burrow wouldn't be kept without a little pressure.

They had all been adamant that he wasn't to leave the Dursleys, even his aunt having specified that, and she normally encouraged him to be around as little as possible. So, it seemed the best way to get Dumbledore or Sirius's attention and force them to talk to him would be to go out…to expose himself to whatever danger was out there and force their hand.

The first time that thought occurred to him it felt overly dramatic. But the longer this went on the more it felt perfectly reasonable - he was a prisoner, again. There was no means of escape, and not one of the Dursley's had a kind word to spare him. Aside from the physical torture, this didn't feel much different to being Voldemort's captive.

Still, it took him a while to work himself up to it, and he would admit only to himself that he was reluctant about his own plan. As much as he despised being stuck in this room at the Dursleys…out there was different now. No longer were the streets his sanctuary from the Dursleys. Instead, the Dursleys were his sanctuary from the world out there, a world that had caused him more harm than good lately.

The Dementor attack had brought that facade crushing down, reminding him that there was a very good reason Dumbledore had posted people he trusted to stay close by him. Voldemort was out to get him, one way or another. Who was to say he hadn't changed his mind about killing him so soon?

That thought was there in the back of his mind constantly. Voldemort would come for him again. What happened to him in June would happen again…that's what Voldemort wanted.

By the third day after the attack Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to think it all through, choosing the lesser of two evils. Stay here another month before September first? Or push himself outside of his comfort zone in a desperate attempt to force someone to hear him out?

Before he could think too hard and lose his nerve Harry got to his feet and grabbed his schoolbag from where it was tossed in the corner. It was buried beneath a pile of discarded Daily Prophets, every single one of them read from front page to back, but he carelessly tossed them aside.

Stuffing his invisibility cloak inside his schoolbag he formulated the details of his plan, pulling it all together. In the room beside him he could hear Dudley and Piers playing the Nintendo. This would make it harder to nick a few pounds, but not impossible. Hell, maybe this would be fun. After all, provoking and antagonising Dudley was his only outlet right now.

Feeling bolder and less restrained than he had in weeks, Harry pulled on his tattered trainers and slung his schoolbag over his shoulder. Going straight to Dudley's bedroom door he opened it without knocking, for there was to be nothing polite about this interaction.

Dudley and Piers were sprawled out on beanbags in front of the television, and there was a soft clatter as Piers hastily hid something behind his leg. They looked up innocently, expecting Dudley's mother, but their eyes narrowed when they saw Harry standing in the threshold.

'We're not sharing,' Piers said bluntly. Seeing that the coast was clear he revealed the pocket sized tin of hand rolled cigarettes he had been hiding, giving Harry a smug look.

Harry raised an eye brow. He hadn't been intending to ask for one, but now? 'You'll share if you expect me to keep quiet.'

'Give him one,' Dudley said shortly, having already turned back to the video game, his thumbs flying over the controller. Piers stared at Dudley incredulously, and then finally conceded.

'Get lost, Freak,' Piers snarled, tossing Harry the smallest cigarette.

Harry pocketed the cigarette and ignored him, turning to his cousin. 'Just need a couple quid first.'

Dudley finally paused the game, looking up at him. 'What for?'

'None of your business.'

There was a moment of silence, Harry starting at his cousin expectantly, while beside him Piers did exactly the same thing, but in utter disbelief. Dudley relented, getting up from the beanbag and retrieving his wallet.

'They said you're not supposed to go out,' Dudley whispered, thumbing through the bank notes.

'Let me deal with the big scary wizards,' he whispered back.

When Dudley handed him a fiver Harry peered inside the wallet, not satisfied. Seeing a twenty pound note he cleared his throat, and Dudley caught on faster than expected. Without protest he gave Harry that one too. All in all, his cousin had been much more agreeable since the Dementor attack. It was an unexpected but welcome consequence of facing his greatest fears, whatever they had been.

Piers was watching their interaction, thoroughly displeased with Dudley's freak cousin apparently having such power over him. 'You know Potter,' he began snidely. 'A thought about you crossed my mind the other day, an-'

'Must have been a lonely journey.'

Piers frowned, looking at him blankly. 'What?'

'My point exactly,' Harry muttered. He tucked the twenty five pounds into his pocket, not thanking Dudley. 'Piers, I'd love to stick around and insult you some more, but there's really nothing else I can do. See yah Big D.'

Harry held absolutely no qualms about bullying Dudley into giving him money, particularly not when his face still throbbed from that punch the other day. This twenty five pounds was a mere fraction of what Dudley had thieved from him during their childhood. Besides, the only thing Dudley spent his money on these days was dirty magazines and what he thought were marijuana cigarettes.

All in all he didn't quite get his timing right, for he encountered Aunt Petunia who was in the downstairs hall when he went for the front door. Her beady eyes narrowed the moment she saw it was him coming downstairs, but when she noticed the bag slung over his shoulder her eyes bulged in outrage.

'What are you doing?' Aunt Petunia demanded, hurrying to intercept him at the bottom of the stairs. 'Well?'

'I'm going out.'

'No you're not.' Puffing herself up she crossed her arms over her chest and looked down her nose at him, though that was getting harder given he wasn't far off matching her height. 'I don't like it either, but it's for your own good. Back upstairs, now.'

Taking great pleasure in her indignation Harry slipped past her and opened the front door, stepping outside and breathing in fresh air for the first time in days.

'I'm calling Mrs Fig,' she threatened from the threshold, not really making a genuine attempt to stop him. 'I know she talks to your lot!'

The threat fell on deaf ears, for really it would work in his favour that word got out quickly, but Harry spared it no thought at all. It was exhilarating being outside again, a smile crossing Harry's features as his heart rate picked up in excitement. The setting sun warming his face, the fresh air in his lungs, his feet pounding the pavement.

But as quickly as he enjoyed these things, they began to anger him. Why should he be thrilled about being able to breathe fresh air? Wasn't there something wrong if all he needed to feel joy was a breath of fresh air?

From his pocket he withdrew the extorted cigarette and studied the dried leaves inside, giving it a quick smell. He didn't know what marijuana smelled like, but this cigarette was definitely not that. Rejoicing in the idea that Dudley had spent good money to smoke dried herbs he tossed it into a nearby garden bed, trying to hold on to his satisfied feeling for as long as he could.

Striding down Wisteria Walk he picked up his pace before slipping into the alleyway, conscious that this was where he and Dudley had been attacked. He wasn't afraid of the alleyway itself, but he had begun to feel rather nervous, as if he were under a bright spotlight. This was exactly the reason he'd been reluctant to do this at all…

He knew whoever Dumbledore had watching him would be there, but he wondered who else. Would there be Death Eaters watching from afar? It was plausible they might be here, that fact he readily acknowledged…but the possibility didn't compel him to turn around for the safety of the Dursley's house.

Though he knew he was being petulant about it, Harry's attitude was not going to change. Emerging from the alleyway he breathed a small sigh of relief, finding comfort in the streetlights that were beginning to illuminate as night approached. Glancing up at the sky he longed for a decent night of rest, wondering if that alone might fix everything.

The nightmares Dudley had taunted him about made him dread closing his eyes, for when he eventually woke in a cold sweat he felt paralysed in fear. For a few moments he was too afraid to even open his eyes, just in case he was still there, just in case being set free had all been a dream. Preferable to those nightmares were the other strange dreams he had, ones where he dreamt he had no hands and a mouth sewn shut, or the long maze of corridors that trapped him at every turn.

Against his will he thought about the Dementor attack again, nervously looking over his shoulder as if he'd see them appearing in the night sky. He and Dudley had come close to the irrevocable consequences, for his attack on the Dementors had been pitiful at best. It was hard to summon happiness when all he could hear in his head was his own screaming, when he felt the pain all over again. He and Dudley had been lucky that night...

The acknowledgement of how close he had come to serious danger didn't make him feel any more inclined to behave himself. In fact, he had been admirably behaved for the entire summer, and he still got attacked by Dementors. So what difference did it make if he was out? What difference did it make if he went further away from the Dursleys than he had on any of his previous outings? If something was coming for him, Dementors or otherwise, simply being in his bedroom wasn't going to make an ounce of difference.

On Magnolia Road was the bus stop that would take him into town, and he slumped down on the bench seat and prepared to wait, his hands in the pockets of his old, ripped jeans. In the light from the setting sun he looked at his left arm, observing the faded but visible scars.

Not for the first time he wished he had been more diligent with the application of Dittany when the scars were still fresh. It's just that in those first few days nothing seemed to matter. Eating, drinking, sleeping…it seemed to lose meaning and importance. Something as trivial as applying Dittany on his scars felt trivial…even indulgent and vain. Why should he be concerned about scars when Cedric Diggory was dead?

The bus was approaching, its headlights a reminder that night had properly fallen. Pleased he didn't have to wait any longer Harry got to his feet and hailed the bus down, taking the five pound note from his pocket to pay for his fare. But he had barely stepped on board when a women with bubble gum pink hair appeared as if out of nowhere, blocking him from entering.

'Wotcher, Harry,' she said to him. 'I can't let you get on.'

Harry looked the stranger in astonishment, momentarily dumfounded. 'Who the hell are you?'

'Your guard tonight. Come on, you have to get off.'

Harry clenched his jaw, annoyed that this was the result of his efforts. Dumbledore's guard had been dispatched to send him home, not to talk. 'Get lost,' he muttered trying to slip past her, but she very swiftly blocked him.

The bus driver was watching them, braced for a disruption on his service. 'Alright?'

The woman spoke before he could, putting on a show. 'He's grounded. I'm his big sister.'

'The hell you are!' he shouted at her.

'Off you get, kid,' the driver said bluntly, waving him off. 'Go on. Go home.'

Harry's heart fell, and he looked at the driver. 'She's not my sister!'

'Go on. G'off so I can close the doors.'

Harry hesitated a moment longer, outraged beyond words – but the driver's expression made it clear he wasn't going to win any argument. He glared at the pink haired woman as he stepped back off the bus, seething with rage as she followed him. He waited until the doors closed and the bus pulled away before he let his temper loose.

'Who the hell are you?'

Dropping the act she gave an apologetic shrug, sighing as she explained. 'My name is Tonks. Sorry, this isn't how I wanted us to meet. You have to go home, Harry.'

Harry just looked at her incredulously, and he took a step back and drew his wand, holding it ready by his side. 'I have no clue who you are. I don't take orders from you.'

'Dumbledore knows me, I'm your guard tonight. You need to go home.'

Staring at her, the impulsiveness and anger that had spurred on his act of rebellion reared its head again. 'No.'

Tonks looked at him in confusion, and it took her a moment to realise that he was defying her. She gave a nervous laugh now, shaking her head. 'I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot. Just, go home okay?'

'Make me.'

Again she was reluctant, laughing even more nervously. 'I'd really rather you just go home.'

Briefly turning away from her Harry sat down in the bus shelter again, looking at her and waiting for her response. He didn't know who this witch was, but he sure as hell was not going to be satisfied by talking to her. He knew exactly the people he wanted to come here tonight, the people who could actually do something…

'Look, Harry…the last person who said _make me_ , well he broke his ankle.' She paused now, beginning to look embarrassed. 'Okay, _I_ broke his ankle, but it was an accident. I don't want things to go that way with you. Not least of all because Dumbledore would be unhappy. And Sirius would yell at me. A lot.'

Refusing to budge Harry held her gaze, daring her to do something, to try and force him to go back. He had no clue who this stranger was, why on earth would he do anything but defend himself against her? However he did note her mention of Sirius, that she had said his name without so much of a hint of terror that he was the maniac mass murderer everyone thought he was.

Looking away Harry defiantly stared down the road, waiting expectantly for someone else. Finally the woman seemed to give up. She pleaded with him one last time, even gesturing down the road with her hands, but when he refused to even acknowledge her presence her shoulders slumped. Walking off without another word he watched her stroll into the shadows before disappearing with a soft pop.

Only then did he put his wand away.

Harry waited now, his heart pumping furiously in his chest. It was Sirius he wanted to come here that night, or Mr Weasley, but he had been disappointed by this strange witch and her ridiculous hair. Why on earth would anyone think Harry would take orders from a complete stranger?

He needed to talk to someone he knows – he needed to appeal to them for information, for when they were getting him out of there. Instead he got stuck with a stranger who practically threatened to break his ankle if he refused to cooperate…an empty threat after all.

Ten minutes at least passed, the next bus running late, and as he looked down the road waiting for it he wondered if this Tonks had anything to do with the late bus. Well too bad if she did, he could stay out all night regardless. He had twenty five pounds of Muggle money burning a hole in his pocket. He'd find something to do while he waited.

Finally…

Across the street a large black dog came into sight, Harry's spirits lifting immediately. He sat forward in anticipation, recognising Padfoot even from a distance. Padfoot sat down on the pavement and waited for a car to pass before he crossed the road, transforming halfway. It was then that Harry's heart sank, for it was immediately clear that while he was overjoyed to see Sirius after nearly six weeks, the feeling was not mutual.

Sirius' face was set in a scowl as he approached, one that discouraged Harry from getting up to greet him. Instead it made him feel defensive, already anticipating the long winded and hypocritical lecture that was coming his way.

'Have you lost your damn mind?' Sirius said loudly, his eyes narrowed. 'What do you think you're doing?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay everyone, life has been really hectic and challenging. Hope you're still hanging in there, and please leave a review to let me know if you enjoyed this chapter and Harry's efforts to provoke Dumbledore.


	19. Chapter 19 - Padfoot's Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 19 - Padfoot's Understanding

Finally…

Across the street a large black dog came into sight, Harry's spirits lifting immediately. He sat forward in anticipation, recognising Padfoot even from a distance. Padfoot sat down on the pavement and waited for a car to pass before he crossed the road, transforming halfway. It was then that Harry's heart sank, for it was immediately clear that while he was overjoyed to see Sirius after nearly six weeks, the feeling was not mutual.

Sirius' face was set in a scowl as he approached, one that discouraged Harry from getting up to greet him. Instead it made him feel defensive, already anticipating the long winded and hypocritical lecture that was coming his way.

'Have you lost your damn mind?' Sirius said loudly, his eyes narrowed. 'What do you think you're doing?'

Harry glared at him, seeing how this was going to be. Sirius wasn't the only one who was pissed off. 'My birthday was last Monday. Thanks for showing up like you promised.'

This comment didn't seem to have the effect he was hoping for. 'I explained that,' Sirius said, his eyes still narrowed. 'I can't go out, you know I can't.'

'You're out now.'

'Dealing with you!' Sirius exclaimed. 'Go home before you get yourself killed.'

Harry stood up furiously, enraged that already Sirius was not taking his side. 'I want to know what's going on,' he demanded. 'How did those Dementors end up here?'

'I don't know. No one knows, which is what makes it dangerous for you to be out here.'

'When do I leave?'

'You're not leaving, you're going back to the Dursleys.'

Harry just looked at him in astonishment, unable to believe this. The fantastical image he had of his godfather being on his side, always advocating him, convincing Dumbledore to make sure Harry could go to the Burrow as soon as possible…that was crashing down. Sirius was just letting this happen, letting Harry be imprisoned here.

'Why am I being punished?'

'You're not be-'

'Yes, I am!' he yelled, desperation growing. 'You're punishing me, and none of this is my fault!'

'I am protecting you!' Sirius shouted back, his fists clenched by his side. 'It's not safe out here. Get back to your aunt and uncle's place, now!'

'At least the Malfoy's admitted I was their prisoner. They didn't pretend it was for my own good!'

Sirius just shook his head, flexing his jaw as he reached the end of his tether. 'I am trying, Harry.'

'Try harder.'

With a strangled yell of frustration Sirius stepped away, swinging his arms by his side as if to release the tension. 'You deal with him,' he snapped at a shadowy figure.

Surprised by the presence of another person Harry looked around, watching as the shadow approached and then came into the light. It was Mr Weasley, in full dress robes and pointed hat, a Ministry badge pinned to his chest. It looked as though he had just come from the middle of an event, something fancy, but Harry didn't have time to think on this.

He'd not seen Mr Weasley in weeks, not since he had dropped him off at the Dursley's early last month. Seeing him again now he hoped Mr Weasley would be one of his greatest sympathisers in his bid to be liberated from Surrey, he had after all appealed to Dumbledore that he be allowed to stay longer at the Burrow. But it was immediately clear this was not the case.

'Harry, you are to do as you're told.' His tone was apologetic, but very stern. He did not once raise his voice. 'Go home, now. Do not come out again.'

Harry just looked at him in desperation, his last hope for getting out of there. The two people he had thought would advocate for him the most were not. 'I can't,' he pleaded desperately. 'I don't care where I go, I just can't stay here. _Please_.'

'I'm sorry, but this is the way it is. Go back, now. I will not ask again.'

'No,' he said, but it came out as a hopeless whisper, a plea falling on deaf ears. He looked back and forth between Mr Weasley and Sirius, searching for even a hint that one of them would change their mind. But neither of them did. Mr Weasley looked at him expectantly, very calm and measured, but clearly sympathetic. Sirius on the other hand was literally shaking with anger, his hands clenched.

Hating them both, Harry snatched his bag from the ground and roughly shoved past Sirius, making sure to express his anger. As he walked back down Magnolia Road the incoming bus passed him, and for a split second he considered waving it down anyway, but he didn't. The impending argument would get him nowhere, and would only make Mr Weasley mad at him. A stunt like that would make him the attention seeker the Prophet was making him out to be.

As he strode back to Privet Drive he looked over his shoulder, still furious to see Mr Weasley and Sirius both following at a distance, ensuring he returned. They followed him all the way back to Privet Drive, watching from the street corner as he opened the door and went inside the house. His anger had not dissipated during the brief walk, if anything it had continued to grow, and when his uncle confronted him in the hallway he lost his temper completely.

'You!' Uncle Vernon said loudly, hurrying into the hallway before Harry could disappear upstairs. 'You little delinquent – how dare you speak to your aunt that way. How-'

'Me?' Harry exclaimed, stopping on the stairs and looking down. 'I'm the delinquent?'

'Yes. Just like your sorry, good for noth-'

Harry cut him off before he could slander his father, knowing that he couldn't take that lying down. 'What about him?' he shouted, pointing at Dudley who had appeared at the top of the stairs, Piers behind him. 'He's the one who's been throwing rocks at cars. He's the one who beat up the Davies kid!'

Dudley gave an alarmed shout of protest, while Uncle Vernon's moustache wobbled around his spluttered words. 'How dare you!'

'And Dudley,' Harry continued, too far gone to stop. 'Those cigarettes you're smoking aren't pot. They're dried herbs, you troll.'

There came a loud shriek from Aunt Petunia, who staggered with her hand over her chest as she looked up at Dudley aghast. Feeling he had done quite enough damage Harry made his way up the stairs, shoving past Dudley and Piers who were both vehemently denying Harry's accusation.

Reaching his bedroom Harry slammed the door shut as hard as he could, pleased when he felt the windows rattle. Uncle Vernon thundered up the stairs after him, and Harry drew his wand in anticipation, eager for the look of horror on his uncle's face when he was confronted by a raised wand. But he was not at all surprised when his uncle took the cowardly way out and simply turned the lock on his door, banging his fists against it and shouting about putting the bars back on the window.

Harry shouted back at him, making use of every expletive he could fit into a sentence, and knowing full well it would make the vein pop out of his uncle's temple. Determined to get the last word Uncle Vernon shouted at him again, threatening that Harry wasn't going to set foot out of this room for the rest of the summer.

Up and down his bedroom he began to pace, overwhelmed with righteous anger, feeling control slipping through his fingers with every passing second. In the kitchen below he could hear a heated discussion, but not even the sound of Aunt Petunia racing up the stairs to search Dudley's bedroom gave him any satisfaction.

He couldn't stand the injustice of it all, couldn't stand being in this place for another day.

Thoughts raced through his head, wild and incendiary ideas that would surely make someone listen. Climbing out his bedroom window and doing a runner was sure to get everyone's attention, it would finally make them sit up and listen. Better yet, he could take off on his Firebolt. What was there to stop him? How sweet would it be to finally go soaring off into the night sky. If he were to go joyriding on the broomstick Sirius had given him that was sure to stir up a reaction.

But all of these thoughts were only fantasy. He was never going to act on it.

Slowing his angry pacing he looked at the bedroom door, properly understanding that he'd been locked in here, and with that realisation his eyes began to burn.

Trying to squash it all down he clenched his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for the surge of unwelcome emotion to pass. With a few small exceptions he had completely held himself together since the Third Task, and that wasn't going to change now.

Finally giving up on it Harry lashed out and kicked his school trunk, pleased with the loud rattle it gave and ignoring the pain in his foot. He yelled out through gritted teeth, dragging his arm across his small desk and knocking the contents off with a satisfying crash.

Sinking onto the edge of his bed he buried his face in his hands, drawing a shuddered breath as he struggled to maintain control of himself. But the shouting from Dudley's bedroom next door provided the perfect cover, and so he reluctantly allowed himself to slip, just a little. His throat tightened to the point of pain, tears spilling from his eyes as quickly as he could wipe them away.

It felt like he was doomed to stay here the whole summer, alone and cut off from the world to which he belonged. Forced to sit on the sidelines while the Ministry destroyed him and Dumbledore stood by and did little to defend it.

There were still weeks left until his return to Hogwarts, but even that wasn't a guarantee. If the Hearing at the Ministry didn't go in his favour he would be expelled, his wand snapped in half making him all but ejected from the wizarding world. Dumbledore would expect him to return to Little Whinging full time, and all the while Voldemort would continue working in the shadows, growing stronger day by day until it was too late to stop him.

Harry had just begun to collect himself again, furious with himself for letting everything get to him, and then the lock on his door clicked. Instantly he was on alert, straightening his glasses as he seized his wand and got to his feet. When the door opened and a figure slipped inside they met his raised wand.

* * *

Striding through the illuminated streets of Little Whinging, Sirius felt his temper receding. Ahead of him his godson walked with his head bowed, clearly upset about what had just happened, an argument for which Sirius felt terrible. Everything had just happened so quickly…and his temper had gotten the better of him.

Communication among the Order was almost instantaneous with their Patronus charms. Tonks who was on guard duty had alerted those at Head Quarters the very moment Harry set foot outside his house. She told them she would follow at a distance and intercept him, that maybe he was just taking a quick stroll around the block. But a short while later they received another Patronus calling for back up, requesting someone Harry actually knew and trusted.

Understandably he was refusing the direction of a complete stranger, and Tonks was unable to convince him to return home. In the kitchen at Grimmauld Place Sirius had looked around, conscious he was the only one present that Harry knew and would trust. Kingsley, Diggle, Jones and Mad-Eye…and they definitely weren't sending Mad-Eye to reign Harry in. It was a group decision that Sirius was to defy Dumbledore's direct order to stay at Headquarters, and so he departed for Little Whinging immediately, secretly pleased Harry had pulled this stunt.

But the moment he got there and saw Harry slouched on a bus bench, Sirius became angry. It was natural after all, for he was still shaken and upset by what had happened to his Godson only a few nights ago. The dementors who had attacked Harry and his cousin had almost overpowered him, almost succeeding in their attempt to perform the kiss. Yet here Harry was, defying the orders that would protect him, and without even the good sense to have his wand drawn.

Did he want what happened in the Third Task to happen again? Did he have any comprehension of the number of Death Eaters who were would love to find him in such a vulnerable position, disappointed that Voldemort had let him go?

All thoughts of a happy reunion between the two of them vanished, and most regrettably Sirius had yelled at him. It happened before he could think twice, and then he was taking out weeks of frustration and helplessness on someone who seemed determined to endanger themselves.

But Harry had yelled back, and their first time seeing each other since Hogwarts had gone terribly. Now Harry was in one hell of a bad mood while Sirius and Arthur Weasley followed him home, returning him to the place he dreaded going every summer. They both breathed a sigh of relief when he made it safely inside, thinking that would be it for the night, a simple teenage rebellion nipped in the bud. But then came the sound of yelling, and without a word between them Sirius and Arthur lingered, casting a listening charm so they could hear inside.

At first Sirius had chuckled, listening to the accusations Harry made against his cousin, proud of him for standing up to that idiot. But his amusement faded as he continued to listen, hearing Vernon Dursley chasing Harry up the stairs before pounding on his door, threatening to put bars on his window.

Arthur let out a low whistle of astonishment, hearing what Harry yelled back at his uncle. 'Merlin. That's some colourful Muggle language.'

Thankfully it began to quieten down now. Sirius had his hand on his wand, ready to go sprinting into that house to defend Harry. But it seemed unnecessary until a few minutes later, when came the sound of something else that made him want to rush in there for different reasons. Harry was crying.

The sound of that made Sirius's stomach clench. He imagined Harry alone in his room, locked in there by that prick, completely isolated. He wanted to go in there, to tell his godson that everything was going to be okay…but all he had done for him that night was yell.

He couldn't leave things like this…for once he needed to do something.

'You should get back' he said to Arthur. 'Molly can only cover for you for so long.'

It was crucial that Arthur and Molly were at the Ministry Gala tonight, for reasons beyond keeping an eye on whoever that scum Lucius Malfoy was cosying up to. Arthur had his own cosying up to do, for after all his years at the Ministry it was time he started calling in some favours owed.

Frequently overlooked given his fondness for Muggles, most people misjudged the influence Arthur Weasley had in the Ministry. Those like Lucius Malfoy proudly flaunted their influence for all to see, while those like Arthur Weasley lingered on the sidelines, going about it more quietly. At times like these, both men were equally powerful in their own way.

Arthur nodded in agreement, straightening his robes as he prepared to apparate back to the Ministry. 'Perhaps it _is_ time to overrule Albus,' he softly suggested. 'This is exactly what Molly and I feared would happen if we sent him back. Even if he did stay with us, we feared it.'

'I've been saying that for weeks.'

'Yes, you have,' Arthur acknowledged. There was a pause, Arthur delaying for a moment as he elaborated. 'You know, I visited last year, briefly. There's not one picture of him in that house.'

'You might mention that to Albus,' Sirius said tersely, not at all surprised with this observation.

Arthur looked at him grimly. 'I did. Twelve months ago.'

When Arthur departed for the Ministry Sirius took a deep breath, calming himself. He'd encountered a lot of resistance over the last few weeks about his relationship with Harry. Most seemed to put little importance on the fact that Lily and James had appointed him Harry's guardian. Sirius knew he had made a terrible mistake all those years ago, that in going after Peter he hadn't avenged Lily and James' deaths, but rather had failed in his duty to Harry. He understood that now, he'd had twelve years to come to terms with his mistake. But now people seemed to think he had lost his chance, that he shouldn't be allowed to make that up to Harry.

People like Remus and Arthur were the few who seemed to disagree with the majority, and so Sirius had made a point of staying on their good side, Arthur's in particular. Arthur Weasley might not be the most highly thought of Wizard in the Ministry, thanks only to his fondness for Muggles, but he had more sway with the Ministry and Dumbledore than most people expected. If there was one person Sirius needed on his side when it came to Harry, it was Arthur Weasley. And besides, the Weasley family did seem to have Harry's best interests at heart, and he claimed to like them very much.

Feeling considerably calmer Sirius crossed the road and drew his wand, ignoring Tonks who called out to him. Disregarding her warning he entered Number 4 Privet Drive very quietly, not wanting to create a disturbance. He wasn't averse to a confrontation with Petunia Evans, a woman who couldn't be more unlike her late sister if she tried, but that wouldn't make things any better for Harry.

There was yelling coming from upstairs, Harry's cousin loudly protesting his innocence while his parents searched his bedroom. Lingering awkwardly in the downstairs hallway was another Muggle teen, someone about Harry's age, but a quick Confundus charm took care of him, and Sirius silently made his way upstairs.

There was no one in the landing, all of the commotion coming from an open door at the end. Shadows were moving inside, a boy standing in the threshold of his bedroom and pleading his innocence. Sirius turned to the nearest door, furrowing his brow at the conspicuous deadbolt and cat flap, and he had to resist the overwhelming urge to hex that bastard Vernon Dursley. If James and Lily knew how their son was being treated here they'd be livid.

With a tap of his wand the deadbolt was unlocked, and Sirius swiftly crept inside and closed the door behind himself. The room was dimly lit, he saw only a flash of shadows moving before he came face to face with Harry's raised wand. Sirius was not alarmed in the slightest, but rather thought _finally_. This was the reaction he had been expecting to see earlier when he confronted him at the bus shelter, that he be ready to defend himself against anything.

Harry lowered his wand, slowly. His face was twisted in an angry scowl, but his red eyes and tearstained cheeks confirmed what Sirius had overheard. For a few moments there was silence, Harry literally shaking with rage while Sirius just stood there mutely, not knowing what to say. Given the opportunity to look at Harry closely he noted that he seemed rather poorly, a conclusion supported by the greyish bruise on the side of his face.

In the room next door Vernon Dursley was shouting for some kid, Piers, demanding he come upstairs and turn out his pockets.

'Unless you're here to get me out, you can piss off.'

Sirius blinked, taken aback by the coldness in Harry's voice. But he didn't blame him for that in the slightest.

'Did you hear me?'

Sirius nodded his head, but he didn't yet speak. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell Harry how sorry he was. Sorry that his hands were tied, that he was helpless here…sorry that he had failed him all those years ago. If Sirius hadn't failed him so badly they could have stayed together, and Harry would never had needed to set foot in this horrible place.

But none of that would help right now. Nothing Sirius could say would help.

Not knowing what else to do, but fearing Harry might resume the destruction of his room, Sirius stepped forward. Before Harry could say another word he pulled him into his arms and embraced him, holding him for the first time in more than a month.

At first Harry seemed to resist, refusing to hug him back and instead remaining stiff and unresponsive. But Sirius persisted, letting out a deep breath of his own as he held his godson closely, wishing he knew how to say how sorry he was for everything that was happening. The moment Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire he knew something terrible was going to happen, and he hadn't stopped it.

Perhaps none of that needed to be said out loud right now, for the next moment Harry finally relaxed. Just as he did the night he'd returned from Malfoy Manor Harry clung to him in the embrace, and Sirius just held him tightly, not wanting to let go.

When it all happened, Sirius had been next to useless. There was nothing he could do to save his godson, forced to leave his life in the hands of Snape, to trust him of all people. Even when it was over Sirius had felt useless, his heart breaking at the suffering Harry had been through, while he had been completely unable to do anything about it.

The only reprieve in it all had been that he went to The Burrow for a few days, a place he seemed to like, which Sirius understood. Though he had known Molly's brothers through the Order back in the day, he hadn't known her or Arthur personally. But everyone he'd asked spoke highly of the Weasleys and seemed to approve that Harry had gone to stay there, even if only briefly.

'I know it's hard. I hate this too.'

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, for Harry abruptly pulled away and turned his back. Sirius stood there awkwardly, trying to think of how to fix it, but he only made things worse.

'You should turn in. Get some rest, and we-'

'Don't tell me what to do,' Harry snapped at him, whirling around.

'Harry, I-'

'Get me out of here!' he hissed. 'Until then, I don't want to hear it. I'm done.'

Sirius nodded. 'I get it.'

'No, you don't. I'm done,' he repeated firmly, looking him in the eye. 'I'm done being stuck here and doing as I'm told. Get me out, or I am leaving.'

Again, Sirius nodded. This time he understood. 'Hang in there for one more day. Just one more.'

Harry looked at him warily, the tension in the air only tightening. 'I want your word.'

At this, Sirius faltered. 'I can't promise.'

'Well I _can_. One more day, and I am out of here. I'd rather sleep in the gutter. I mean it.'

Problem was, Sirius knew that he meant it. It had been a long time ago, but he'd once been in a similar position when he was not much older than Harry. The day he ran away from home he had spent a few nights in a London park as he summed the nerve to go to the Potters and ask for houseroom.

'One day.'

It wasn't a promise, it wasn't even an agreement. It was an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first Sirius POV - enjoyed my first foray into his character, though wish I had more 'scene' to work with and really get into his head. There really wasn't much to explore, but hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and Harry's blow out with Sirius (and Mr Weasley). Please do leave a review, even if it's only a quick one!


	20. Chapter 20 - The Advance Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20 - The Advance Guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that in some portions I take passages of text straight from the book. If it's the exact same scene (like the Advance Guard) and there's no benefit to me rewriting it I just weave a few existing paragraphs into my own text. Otherwise, I'm rewriting a perfectly good scene just for the sake of it. Not making any money, JKR's work not my own, etc.

Other than remaining locked in his room, Harry had suffered no consequences from the Dursleys for what happened last night. Still, he couldn't even find pleasure in the fall out from his aunt discovering a bong and more cigarettes in Dudley's room. Unsurprisingly Dudley had tried to blame everything on him, making him immensely glad he hadn't been stupid enough to keep the cigarette of dried basil he had extorted from him.

The entire day had been spent listening to Aunt Petunia cleaning Dudley's room on a rampage, giving shrill cries of shock when she found his dirty magazines, and then something mouldy that made Uncle Vernon retch when she showed it to him. Dudley too was grounded now, and for the first time in his life it was being almost entirely enforced.

Harry didn't know what was worse. Being locked in his room himself, or listening to Dudley whinge and whine that his Playstation was confiscated and he couldn't watch television. If only he had the problems of his spoiled cousin, life would be much more tolerable.

The only act of solace Harry had right now was packing. He'd spent the entire day clearing his room and organising his belongings, and by late afternoon he was packed and ready to go. Either he was leaving that night with Sirius, or he was leaving of his own accord to sleep in a gutter. It didn't matter which. He was packed and leaving that night, one way or another.

Passing the remainder of the time Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

'We're going out,' he said.

'Sorry?'

'We – that is to say, your aunt, Dudley and I – are going out.'

'Fine,' said Harry dully, looking back at the ceiling.

'You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away.'

'OK.'

'You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions.'

'Right.'

'You are not to steal food from the fridge.'

'OK.'

'I am going to lock your door.'

'You do that.'

Uncle Vernon looked around Harry's empty room, his gaze settling on the trunk that stood in the middle of the floor. It had to be obvious what Harry was planning, but Vernon didn't say anything. Perhaps like Harry he too hoped that he was leaving.

Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light, nor to conjure light with wandless magic. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.

The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.

Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.

He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.

There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.

 _Burglars_ , he thought, sliding off the bed on to his feet – but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.

He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped in shock as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

Harry stood motionless, staring through the open doorway at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment, then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.

His heart shot upwards into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

'Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out,' said a low, growling voice.

Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.

'Professor Moody?' he said uncertainly.

'I don't know so much about "Professor",' growled the voice, 'never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly.'

Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Harry before being unmasked. But before he could make a decision about what to do next, a second, slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.

'It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away.'

Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice, too, though he hadn't heard it for over a year. 'P-Professor Lupin?' he said disbelievingly. 'Is that you?'

'Why are we all standing in the dark?' said a third voice, a woman's. 'Lumos.'

A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more grey hairs than when Harry had last said goodbye to him and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back despite his state of shock.

The other people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing up at him intently, some craning their heads for a better look. Suspicious, Harry turned his attention to each one of them and then raised his wand. The woman from last night was there too, the one with the bright pink hair.

'You expect me to go with you?' he questioned, looking at each of them in turn as he addressed them. 'A dozen people I've never met, and the crazy bus lady. I haven't seen you since your imposter lured me away to kill me,' he said sharply, turning his wand on Mad-Eye, and then to Lupin. 'And I haven't seen or heard from you in over a year. How do I even know you're you?'

Lupin seemed weary, but he understood Harry's caution. 'Ask me something only the real Remus Lupin would be able to answer.'

Deciding this was not unreasonable, Harry wracked his brain. It was hard, having been so long since he saw Professor Lupin. 'When you confiscated a map from me, what did you say?'

Lupin nodded, recalling. 'That your behaviour at the time was a poor way to repay the sacrifice your parents made for you.'

Accepting this answer, Harry began to lower his wand.

'Suspicious of everyone,' Mad-Eye said in approval. 'That's good, Potter. Very good.'

The pinked gum haired woman with him sighed, Tonks. 'Mad-Eye, you're suspicious of your breakfast cereal.'

'You would be too if you'd spent the better part of a year locked in your own trunk! And how do we know it's him, huh? Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?'

'Harry, what form does your Patronus take?' Lupin asked.

'A stag.'

'That's him, Mad-Eye,' said Lupin.

'So,' Harry began hesitantly. 'You're here to...' He didn't dare ask if he was getting out of here…it seemed impossible, too good to be true.

Tonks smiled at him, and this time he felt a little more receptive of the crazy bus lady. 'We're your ride. How'd you like to get the hell outta here?'

Harry didn't react, not allowing himself to feel anything but suspicion. He turned to Lupin, looking at him urgently. He could hardly believe this was real. Six weeks with nothing but refusals, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards were standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this were a long-standing arrangement.

'You're letting me leave?' he whispered, as if saying it too loudly would ruin it. 'Tonight?'

Lupin nodded sympathetically. 'Much later than we would have liked. But yes. You're getting out of here.'

Not even caring where they were taking him, Harry let out a long breath of relief. He looked around at all of them, nearly overcome with relief. It worked…they finally listened. 'Thank you.'

* * *

'Get in quick, Harry,' Lupin whispered, 'but don't go far inside and don't touch anything.'

Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him, Lupin and Tonks carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage.

Moody was standing on the top step releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the street lamps; they flew back to their bulbs and the square glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.

'Here –'

He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.

'Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here,' Moody whispered.

The others' hushed voices were giving Harry an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though they had just entered the house of a dying person. He heard a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Harry heard something scuttling behind the skirting board. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.

From the end of the corridor a figure appeared, ascending from a set of stairs that must lead to a basement. He could almost tell from the shadow alone, but when they stepped into the light Harry's heart lifted upon seeing Sirius. For a brief moment he wondered if Sirius was still mad at him for last night, and if the reverse was true as well – but none of that seemed to matter. Sirius's expression was one of relief to see he had arrived safely, and then a tentative smile that suggested he too was wondering if Harry was mad.

Disregarding Moody's instructions to stay where he was Harry started forward down the hall, as did Sirius. It was an enormous relief when they embraced, Sirius holding him tightly and whispering a murmur of apology.

'I'm sorry too,' Harry replied, looking him in the eye when they parted. 'I was just…I was losing my mind, I-'

'Keep your voice down,' Sirius murmured, nodding in acceptance of the apology. 'Come on, this way.'

Following Sirius back down the hall he noticed that everyone else was still whispering too. He meant to thank the people who brought him here, he managed to whisper it to a few of them, but most were already filing down the stairs Sirius had ascended from.

Noticing Harry's curiosity, Sirius ushered him into a dimly lit sitting room by the front door, a flick of his wand lighting a second gas lamp. 'Wait here, and don't touch a thing if you like having ten fingers,' he said with a grin. 'Stay quiet.'

Sirius was gone quickly, pulling the door halfway closed. Bewildered by these instructions Harry looked around apprehensively, his hand drifting to the pocket where he kept his wand. Like the hallway this room was dark and gloomy, the wallpaper ripped and falling down in places. Ornately carved into the arms and legs of the two couches were serpents, the bared fangs reminding him horribly of Nagini.

He started to wonder if he would regret his declaration that anywhere would be better than Privet Drive.

Hearing a foreboding rattle from a cabinet in the corner, Harry headed back to the door and listened, managing to catch small whispers of conversation from the hallway. He could hear Sirius's voice most clearly, and Harry wondered if he had intentionally left the door open so he could listen in.

'I'm showing Harry to his room. Fill me in later about the meeting, you don't need me anyway.'

Someone murmured in agreement – Mrs Weasley? Not daring to risk opening the door any further Harry continued to listen, hoping to catch something else about this meeting Sirius had mentioned.

'Sirius…' came Lupin's voice, cautioning his friend. 'No more than we agreed.'

'Cross my heart.'

Harry grinned, getting the feeling that whatever Sirius had promised wasn't sincere.

Things became quiet now, but when Harry heard soft footsteps coming down the hall he stepped back from the door. When Sirius entered he had two bottles of cold Butterbeer, and after he closed the door behind himself he passed one to Harry.

'You like Butterbeer?'

'Yeah,' Harry nodded, removing the cap. 'Thanks.'

'Cheers, then,' Sirius said, tapping his bottle against Harry's. 'Sit down.'

Harry looked round at the couch, raising an eyebrow. 'Can I keep my fingers?'

Sirius laughed grimly, taking a seat on the other couch. 'It's a risk in this place. Your friend Ron saw spiders the size of dinner plates in the dining room cabinet. Won't set foot in there now.'

'Ron's here?' he asked, trying to hide how much that annoyed him. It was all well and good for Ron to be here in the middle of things, knowing exactly what was going on. 'For how long?'

'Since the Dementor attack,' he answered moving closer to lower his voice. 'Keep your voice down.'

'Why?'

'You don't want to wake my mother.'

Harry blinked, surprised at this. 'Your mother is here?' he questioned, suddenly realising he knew absolutely nothing of Sirius's family. He'd never had the opportunity to ask.

'She's…hanging around,' he replied, again dismissing the small talk. 'Look, we've got maybe five minutes before Molly figures out I'm not actually showing you to your room. So let's make this quick.'

'Make what quick?'

'You want to know what's going on, right?'

Understanding, Harry gave a long sigh, unable to believe it. Six weeks he'd been waiting for this, getting by on cryptic letters from his friends that told him absolutely nothing. 'I want to know _everything_.'

'Well first up, I can't tell you everything. You're going to have to accept that now. There are some things I just cannot tell you, so don't argue. Got it?'

Harry paused, mulling this over. 'I can't promise not to argue. What can you tell me?'

'Not much,' he apologised. 'How much we can tell you has been the subject of heated debate for weeks now.'

'Who's debating it?'

'Never you mind. But most of agree though, that you need to get a clear and accurate picture of what's going on. Not second hand information from others like Ron and Hermione.'

'Hermione's here too?'

'She came here with the Weasleys. Voldemort's threat to her was taken seriously, she's been under as much protection as you. In the end it was just easier to bring her here with the rest of them. While we're on the subject, don't bring up Percy, whatever you do,' Sirius commented, continuing before Harry could enquire further. 'Do you know where you are?'

'Grimmauld Place, London,' Harry recited, recalling what he read on the slip of paper that bore Dumbledore's handwriting.

'This was my parents' house,' Sirius explained. 'But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for Headquarters.'

'Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix?' he asked curiously, pressing for more information. 'What is that?

'Kind of a secret society, I suppose,' Sirius began, sitting back in the couch as he took a sip of his Butterbeer. As he spoke he started sounding wistful. 'Dumbledore founded it back in the seventies, when Voldemort was first coming to power. Its purpose is to fight him and the Death Eaters. Your parents, Remus and I joined back in seventy eight, the day after we finished Hogwarts. There's a meeting on tonight, that's why everyone's here.'

'A secret society to fight Voldemort,' Harry recited, keeping up with the gist. 'So, what's it been doing for the last six weeks?'

'You've been reading the paper?'

Harry nodded sourly, taking a sip of Butterbeer. 'Front to back, every day. You were eighty six down in the crossword last Tuesday.'

'A great point of personal pride,' Sirius said, managing a laugh. 'So you're aware of what the Ministry's position is? Crouch acted alone. He was trying to kill you, Cedric was collateral damage. Then Dumbledore took advantage of the situation and convinced you to say it was Voldemort.'

'I've read everything they've said. About me, and Dumbledore.'

'Well right now the Order's main priority is spreading the word, putting people on guard so they can be prepared. But it's proving tricky. We can't exactly go door knocking. I've got ten thousand galleons on my head, and Remus's lycanthropy already isolates him. People like Arthur and Tonks would risk losing their jobs at the Ministry if they stir up too much trouble, and we need people in the Ministry.'

'But you are telling people, right?'

'Why do you think Dumbledore's in such trouble? Demoted from Wizengamot, voted out of the International Confederation of Wizards. The Ministry are shutting him out.'

Harry sighed in disappointment. He had known all these things happened, but hearing them explained by someone else had a somewhat heavier impact. 'He can't stop.'

'Of course not. But things are pretty bad for him, so he's trying a different strategy now. What we do if it's actually successful is another thing.'

'What's the strategy?'

'Can't say. Not yet at least.'

Harry shook his head in annoyance, making himself perfectly clear. 'Why even bring it up if you won't tell me?'

Looking suitably apologetic, Sirius tried to meet him halfway. 'It involves you. But until we know if it's going to happen or not, I don't want it on your mind.'

'Fine. What's Voldemort doing?'

'Exactly what we thought he'd be doing,' Sirius explained, taking another leisurely sip of butterbeer. 'You know it wasn't his original plan that you would live – especially not that he would set you free to tell the rest of us. So he's laying low for as long as he can, he's not drawing any attention to himself.'

'I figured,' Harry said quietly. 'He's just letting the Daily Prophet do all the work keeping things quiet for him.'

'Got it in one. He's letting the Ministry discredit Dumbledore and slander you. Death Eaters are nudging people in all the right departments, feeding them lies and stories…the rest just plays out exactly the way he wants it to.'

'So what's he doing?' Harry asked again. 'He might be laying low, but he's not doing _nothing_.'

'We know he's building up his army again, even if he has to do it slowly. In the old days he had huge numbers at his command, and not just witches and wizards. He had Death Eaters, Dementors, Giants…you name the dark creature, he used them.'

'But…' Harry started in frustration, trying to catch up on six weeks of information. 'If he's recruiting more Death Eaters, won't it get out that he's back?'

'Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry,' said Sirius. 'He tricks, jinxes and blackmails them. He's well-practised at operating in secret. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in. He's got other plans too, plans that for now are pretty quiet.'

'What's he after apart from followers?'

It was Sirius's hesitation that told Harry he was on to something, that he had raised a subject of interest. Now it was Harry who was hesitating, for right on the tip of his tongue was a subject he had spoken of only once since his imprisonment at Malfoy Manor. The prophecy Voldemort asked about.

There had been only two people he told, and then there had been no opportunity to speak of it again, which frankly Harry had been glad of. Voldemort's interrogation of him was not something he had wanted to think about.

Now that he'd had time to think things through after all that happened, the prophecy kept coming back to the front fo his mind. Now might be his only opportunity to ask about it.

'There were two things Voldemort asked me about,' Harry continued, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer to his question. 'Dumbledore, and a prophecy.'

Sirius looked uncomfortable, but he didn't try to avoid the subject. 'Yes. He asked you about a prophecy.'

'Okay…' Harry said, waiting for Sirius to elaborate. When he didn't he pressed on. 'Is that what Voldemort's after?

'We don't know.'

'But it's…it's a real thing?'

'It could be real. It could be nothing.'

Harry grit his teeth for a moment, annoyed by the unnecessary back and forth, Sirius avoiding having to give an answer. He looked down at his Butterbeer and dwelled on what he had learned, on what he had already been thinking about all summer long.

'If it's nothing, then why was Voldemort asking me about it?'

Sirius didn't answer for a moment, and when he did he seemed pained by his words. 'Because it _could_ be real.'

Strangely, this came as a small relief to hear. It was as if he'd expected Sirius to deny knowledge of the prophecy, to deny that Harry had ever mentioned one in the first place. At times it felt difficult to be sure that his memories of what happened were real and genuine, or if they were just a the result of deep seated fears that manifested itself into false memories his mind was making up.

But this wasn't a false memory, and Sirius was not denying anything.

'If Voldemort asked me about it, it must be real,' Harry thought out loud, reaching his conclusions. 'When I didn't know, he was furious. He grabbed me. He kept asking.'

'Yes,' Sirius agreed, recalling Harry's recount. Silence dwelled for a few moments before Sirius spoke again. 'Dumbledore believes that Voldemort wants to know about this prophecy very much. That's what he's after right now.'

'Okay,' Harry murmured, agreeing with this conclusion.

He paused for now, thinking things over. If Voldemort wanted to know about it, therefore this prophecy had to be real...and therefore it was of value. He looked up at Sirius, noting his hesitant expression. They both knew what question was coming next.

'What does it say?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews, it brings such joy and encouragement to know that you're enjoying the story and the characters! Thank you.


	21. Chapter 21 - Grimmauld Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 21 - Grimmauld Place

'Dumbledore believes that Voldemort wants to know about this prophecy very much. That's what he's after right now.'

'Okay,' Harry murmured, agreeing with this conclusion.

He paused for now, thinking things over. If Voldemort wanted to know about it, therefore this prophecy had to be real...and therefore it was of value. He looked up at Sirius, noting his hesitant expression. They both knew what question was coming next.

'What does it say?'

Sirius sighed, sitting back in his chair. 'I don't know. Even if I did, sharing that information with you would only endanger your life.'

'Endanger me how?'

'Because in saving your life last June, we put you at greater risk than ever before. Snape convinced Voldemort to let you go so that you would naturally come to learn the very information Voldemort wants.'

This Harry had known all along, but had tried not to think about. 'So, even if you knew, telling me anything about the prophecy runs the risk that Voldemort is going to torture it out of me.'

'That's not going to happen,' Sirius said emphatically, holding Harry's gaze, making sure he was listening. 'But it does elevate Voldemort's determination to reach you again. The more you know, the more he'll want you. The less you know, the less you're of interest to him.'

'But, this prophecy-'

'Could be nothing. It could have absolutely nothing to do with you. It might not even be real.'

'Why would he ask if it wasn't real?' Harry questioned, not believing Voldemort would be easily duped. 'You don't know anything at all?'

Not for the first time that evening, Sirius looked away as he tried to think, collecting his thoughts. When he continued again it was clear he was choosing his words with great care.

'When your parents went into hiding all we knew was that Voldemort was after you. It was bad back then – he almost got your mum when she was pregnant with you. For a while they were so scared they considered sending you away to protect you. But Dumbledore didn't seem to think that was necessary. He suggested the Fidelius charm instead.'

At this latter comment Harry frowned, surprised by the mention of Dumbledore. 'Did my parents know about the prophecy?'

'I don't think so,' Sirius mused thoughtfully. 'They would have told me had they known. It was Remus we didn't think we could trust,' he commented, wincing at his own words.

'Dumbledore knows.'

Sirius looked around at him, taken aback by his comment. 'What makes you say that?'

Harry sighed, beginning to feel exhausted from the conversation he had been craving for weeks. 'In my first year after what happened with the Philosopher's Stone, I remember asking why Voldemort wanted to kill me in the first place. Dumbledore wouldn't tell me. He said he would tell me when I was older.'

'You might be reading too much into it. It might be nothing.'

Shaking his head, Harry disagreed. 'No,' he said bluntly, now absolutely certain that Dumbledore was hiding something from him. It might go a small way to explaining the lack of contact from his Headmaster. 'Dumbledore said he would tell me when I was older. He knows something. So, Voldemort's after this prophecy?'

Sirius looked highly regretful now, and he peered at Harry in worry. 'Listen, Harry. I'm not supposed to tell you a word of all this. Don't go mouthing off about it.'

'Voldemort's the one who gave it away in the first place. I would have asked you or Dumbledore eventually.'

'Still, the Order don't know about the prophecy. The only reason _I_ do is that you mentioned it when you told Dumbledore what happened. And it will be the death of me if the Order finds out I've told you anything we didn't agree to. Many of them already disapprove of my relationship with you.'

Harry looked at him in surprise, completely taken aback. 'Why?'

'Some people think I won't be the best influence on you. Or th-'

'You've been nothing but good to me,' Harry cut him off, angry with whoever had been saying such things. 'I won't let anyone say otherwise.'

Breathing out, Sirius looked at him appreciatively. 'Look, just…don't go talking about anything I've told you.'

'I'll keep quiet,' Harry assured him, making a point of not promising to keep this from Ron and Hermione. 'I'm glad you told me.'

'I'm glad too. As a…' Sirius trailed off, the sound of approaching footsteps distracting him. 'Right, you've been telling me about your summer, got it?'

Seeing that the jig was up Harry nodded in agreement, the two of them quickly sitting back into the couches and trying to appear relaxed and casual. The footsteps quickened right before the door flung open, and the instant Mrs Weasley appeared in the threshold with an air of suspicion Harry was willing to bet she was one of the naysayers about his relationship with Sirius.

'What's going on here?' she asked sharply, her narrowed eyes looking between the two of them.

'Molly,' Sirius said lightly, downing the last of his butterbeer. 'Just giving Harry his very first taste of Firewhiskey.'

Harry hastened to his feet and crossed the sitting room before she could start telling anyone off. 'It's good to see you,' he said, genuinely meaning it.

Still looking at Sirius disapprovingly, Mrs Weasley promptly turned her attention to Harry and gave him the much warmer reception to which he was accustomed. 'Harry, it's good to see you too. We've missed you,' she said kindly, hugging him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 'But look at you, oh,' she said in astonishment, casting her eyes up and down him. 'You must have shot up at least an inch.'

Harry nodded, a little distracted. Sirius too had gotten up, hastening to close the door when other people appeared in the hallway. He stood there looking through the small gap he left open, whispering to someone out there, 'Tell me when he's gone.'

'Who's out there?' Harry asked, looking to Mrs Weasley who must know.

She pretended not to hear him, still looking up him and down. 'I've got more clothing to give you. Ron's outgrown them all, but you ought to get a few months out of them. What on earth have you done to those trainers? They're barely holding together.'

'They're just old,' he answered, trying to be polite even as he turned to Sirius now. 'Who's out there?'

To his frustration Sirius replied with only a puzzled query, pretending to not understand – but to both of their surprise, Mrs Weasley answered.

'It's Professor Snape,' she said gently, continuing rather quickly. 'But he's on his way out. Never stays for dinner.'

At this Harry felt his stomach turn icy, for it was immediately clear why Sirius had closed the door. Aside from at the Leaving Feast he hadn't seen Snape at all. In the last few days he spent at Hogwarts Harry had kept a pretty low profile, eating in the Great Hall only when it was near empty, and not attending any of his classes.

It was inevitable that he would encounter Snape again when he returned to Hogwarts in September, he couldn't quit taking Potions class after all. But it hadn't even occurred to him that Snape might be here of all places.

'Snape's part of the Order?'

Sirius nodded tersely, but what he said next was unexpected. 'He's been helpful. Really helpful, actually.'

Feeling Mrs Weasley's gaze on him Harry was careful with the words he said next. 'You trust him?' he queried, still surprised when Sirius nodded. 'I didn't expect that.'

Sirius gave a heavy sigh, glancing through the doorway before returning his gaze to Harry. 'I didn't expect him to actually save you. Thought for sure he'd make up some reason that he couldn't. But he came through for you.'

Harry said nothing else, wishing that Sirius had outright condemned his oldest enemy, that he would continue to despise him so as to affirm that Harry's own hatred was not misplaced. He didn't care that Snape had been the one to convince Voldemort to let him go, he didn't care that Snape himself had helped him back to the Portkey – he wanted only to continue despising him.

Fortunately there was little time for him to dwell on this, for Sirius opened the door and let Harry look out into the hall where he could see half a dozen people making their way out. A few of them he recognised as those who had accompanied him from Privet Drive, but they paid him little attention, whispering amongst themselves before slipping out the front door.

'Downstairs,' Mrs Weasley whispered, ushering Harry into the hall and towards the stairs. 'It's much more comfortable in the kitchen.'

Whisked away, Harry was forced to leave Sirius behind, his godfather lingering to see the rest of the Order members out. He followed Mrs Weasley to the bottom of the steps and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr Weasley and his eldest son Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.

'Harry!' Mr Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him, and shaking his hand vigorously. 'Good to see you!'

Harry smiled in relief, pleased that the argument and stern disapproval from last night at Privet Drive seemed to be forgotten. Just as it had been with Sirius and Mrs Weasley, it was good seeing Mr Weasley again after so long. He had been the first one who came to Harry's aid when he returned with the Cup and Cedric, and had stayed by his side to protect him – had even raised his wand to Barty Crouch Jnr, though he didn't know it was him at the time.

Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.

'Journey all right, Harry?' Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. 'Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?'

'He tried,' said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately toppling a candle on to the last piece of parchment. 'Oh no – sorry –'

'Here, dear,' said Mrs Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand.

In the flash of light caused by Mrs Weasley's charm Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building. Before he could look any closer he was distracted by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, a commotion becoming apparent just before the kitchen door flung open. He caught a glimpse of Hermione's bushy brown hair before she threw herself on to him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat.

'HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless – but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't.'

'Let him breathe, Hermione,' said Ron, grinning as he followed her into the kitchen. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their six weeks apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair and freckles were the same.

Still beaming, Hermione let go of Harry, but was deprived of the opportunity to say anything more by the arrival of Fred and George who greeted him cheerfully, then Ginny who carried Hedwig on her shoulder. The moment she saw him there was a soft swooshing sound as she briefly took flight, crossing the room to land gently on his shoulder.

'Hedwig!' The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers.

'She's been in a right state,' said Ron. 'Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this –' He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.

'Oh, yeah,' Harry said. 'Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know –'

'We wanted to give them to you, mate,' said Ron. 'Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us swe-.'

'– swear not to tell me,' said Harry. 'Yeah, Hermione's already said.'

The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. But there was nothing any of them could do about it now, and so instead Harry directed his frustrations to Dumbledore. Clearly it was him who was the cause behind Harry's lack of information, and the fact that he'd been dumped in Privet Drive for so long. It was Dumbledore pulling all this unfair shit, not his friends.

'Why don't we show you to your room?' Hermione suggested.

'Hasn't Sirius just done that?' Mrs Weasley asked sharply, her eyes narrowing and turning to Sirius who had just entered the kitchen.

He caught on quickly. 'They can show him themselves.'

'It's not like there's a scenic route,' Mrs Weasley argued, not bothering to hide her disapproval. 'What exactly were you telling him?'

'Only what we agreed,' Sirius lied smoothly, giving nothing away to suggest he'd told Harry any more. 'And as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back, he has more right than most to-'

'He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!' said Mrs Weasley. 'He's only fifteen and –'

'And he's dealt with as much as most in the Order,' argued Sirius, 'and more than some.'

'No one's denying what he's done!' said Mrs Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. 'But he's still –'

'He's not a child!' said Sirius impatiently.

'He's not an adult either!' said Mrs Weasley, the colour rising in her cheeks. 'He's not James, Sirius!'

'Let's get outta here,' Ron hissed to Harry and Hermione.

'I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,' said Sirius coldly.

'I'm not sure you are!' said Mrs Weasley. 'Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!'

Relieved to do so, Harry hastened to follow Ron and Hermione upstairs, though when Sirius and Mrs Weasley's discussion started getting heated he was tempted to stay, wanting to defend his godfather. It had surprised him to hear his dad brought into the argument, the accusation that Sirius was treating him like a friend and not a godson. He better understood now what Sirius meant about people disapproving about their relationship. He wanted to stay, to defend Sirius who had only ever been good to him. But good sense got the better of him, and Harry departed, Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder.

'They seem to be getting along,' he said once they reached the hallway upstairs.

Ron whirled around, raising a finger to his lips and shushing him. 'You'll wake Sirius's mum,' he whispered urgently, following Hermione to the grand stairs that would take them up. 'Merlin's balls she awful.'

Harry gaped at him, appalled. 'Ron!'

'She is,' Hermione said, siding with Ron. 'Come on, the longer we take the more risk there is. Yesterday Tonks knocked over the umbrella stand and she didn't shut up screaming for an hour.'

Harry just stared at his friends, for while he'd never met the woman in question he didn't quite understand why they'd talk about her so rudely. 'What's your problem with her?' he asked when they reached the first floor landing.

Ron and Hermione paused, looking at Harry in confusion and then to each other, and then something dawned on them.

'Oh, Mrs Black died years ago,' Hermione whispered. 'It's her portrait hanging at the foot of the stairs. And trust me, Sirius was never all that fond of her.'

'Behind the black curtains,' Ron added, explaining further. 'If you wake her up she'll start screaming about blood traitors and Mudbloods. She's got a real beef with Sirius.'

'And don't even get her started on Professor Lupin,' Hermione added grimly. 'And Tonks too. Her whole side of the family were disowned, she's awfully mean to her.'

Glancing back down the stairs Harry began to understand the reason for all the whispering, and he laughed at Sirius's earlier comment. ' _She's hanging around_.'

'Sirius and Tonks are related?'

'Second cousins. But her side's been blasted off the family tree. I'm sure Sirius will show you.'

'The stories are awesome,' Ron grinned.

'Sirius has been on like a broken record about getting you here,' Hermione added, heading up the next flight of stairs. 'If he'd had his way you'd have stayed at the Burrow with Ron. I think that's when _it_ started.'

'When what started?'

'People thinking he was trying to have too much say over you. Everyone agreed with him you shouldn't be stuck in Surrey for this long, but Sirius just wouldn't quit.'

'It's funny,' said Ron. 'Mum and Sirius were in complete agreement you should come back to the Burrow, but they still managed to argue about it. They're trying harder to get along now that you're here.'

'That's them trying to get along?'

On the second floor they found a landing with more doors that was to be expected in a place this size, but Harry knew not to bother questioning it when he followed his friends into a generously sized bedroom with two twin beds. Much like the Burrow was enchanted to defy the laws of gravity and engineering, Grimmauld Place was enchanted to accommodate a great amount of space.

'That's you,' Ron said unnecessarily, pointing to the lone neatly made bed with Harry's trunk at the end. He sat down on his own messy bed and crossed his legs, while Hermione settled on the end of Harry's. 'So, what did Sirius tell you?'

'He must have told you a lot,' Hermione said eagerly. 'Lupin and Tonks brought up your trunk, but it was ages before we were allowed to come down.'

'Unless you were in the meeting?' Ron asked urgently.

Quietly pleased that Ron and Hermione knew nothing Harry felt his prior burst of anger dissipate almost completely. They might have been around more people and hanging out with Sirius, privy to more conversations especially here at Grimmauld Place, but they were as clueless as Harry had been twenty minutes ago. Setting Hedwig on to the top of the cupboard with Pigwidgeon Harry hastily began to explain what little he knew of Voldemort's activity.

But at the last minute he trailed off and avoided anything to do with what he had learned about the prophecy. He'd told them a little about what had happened to him, they knew Voldemort had interrogated and tortured him, that Death Eaters had too…but they didn't know the nature of Voldemort's questions. Deciding that he wasn't quite ready to get into any details of his imprisonment, nor the prophecy, Harry avoided the subject all together. He hadn't even digested the information Sirius had given him, nor his suspicion that Dumbledore knew more about this prophecy than he let on.

'Your Hearing is only a few days away,' Hermione said in worry, wringing her hands when they came to the subject of the Dementor attack in Little Whinging.

'Don't even bring it up,' Harry groaned, getting that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Hearing was the last thing he wanted to think about.

'Don't worry about a thing, you'll have Dumbledore with you,' Ron assured him.

'I will?'

Ron blinked, glancing at Hermione. 'I mean, well…surely he's going with you, right?'

'I have no idea,' Harry said in frustration. 'I haven't heard a word from him since Hogwarts. I don't even know what I have to do at this Hearing, let alone who's going with me.'

'Hermione?' Ron began, rounding on her. 'You know stuff like this. What does he have to do at this Hearing?'

She shrugged unhelpfully. 'I've never been called to a Hearing. But surely you're allowed to take someone with you. You're underage, you can't go alone.'

'Whatever,' Harry said dismissively. 'I don't want to talk about it. At all.'

Despite of the topic of conversation Harry found himself holding back a smile, a most peculiar feeling. Less than an hour ago he had been at the Dursleys psyching himself up to ditch out if no one came to get him, while this time last night he'd been at his absolute lowest. Now he was here in a home that was formerly owned by dark wizards but was now head quarters of the resistance, with the very people he had missed the most. All in all, today was a good day.

Having nothing much left to say they cleared out of Ron and Harry's shared bedroom, keen to venture back downstairs to see what might be coming for dinner. But before they'd even reached the landing Ron flung his arm out to stop Harry and Hermione walking any further.

'Hold it!' he breathed excitedly. 'There's someone downstairs, we might be able to hear something.'

Creeping closer the three of them cautiously peered over the bannister to the ground floor two storeys below, hearing the distinct sound of heated whispers. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance and then began digging around in their pockets, and Harry was bewildered when Ron produced what looked like an actual human ear attached to a long string.

Following their lead he copied them when they crouched down and slipped the ears between the bannister rails and let them dangle in the air, and then slipped the end of the strip into his ear. Harry gave a small gasp when he could hear the whispered conversation two storeys below as if he was right there with them. It was Mr and Mrs Weasley speaking in hushed but strained tones, and just as Harry was having second thoughts about eavesdropping on something private, their topic caught his attention.

'…does not matter in the slightest. Harry loves him.'

'Arthur,' Mrs Weasley argued back, sounding exasperated that he wasn't on her side. 'Sirius is a good man, but he's a loose cannon.'

'He's also selfless, loyal, and loves Harry like his own child. Just as we do.'

'I don't question that his heart is in the right place. But we cannot ignore that he has spent the majority of Harry's like in Azkaban. You visited that place for half a day. If you'd spent twelve years there, would you be fit for the kind of relationship Sirius wants with him?'

There was a long pause now, and Harry waited on tenterhooks for Mr Weasley to respond, to declare that Sirius was a perfectly fit godfather. His heart was racing, anxious that there seemed to be so much animosity from Mrs Weasley.

'All I know, Molly, is that we cannot put Harry in a position where he feels he has to choose between us, and Sirius. While I don't doubt Harry loves us very much, he will not choose us. Sirius has a connection to Harry's parents that you and I simply cannot provide. Unless you want to completely alienate Harry from us you must as least hide your contempt for Sirius.'

'I disagree,' Mrs Weasley said boldly. 'Even if it does alienate us from Harry, we have to push for what is best for him. You mark my words, Arthur – after what happened to him Harry needs a stable parental figure in his life.'

'You're not giving Sirius enough credit.'

'And you give him too much!'

'We all want the best for Harry. It is up to you and I to decide whether we will work against Sirius, or with him. We cannot compete with Sirius, we simply cannot!'

When someone inevitably caught them eavesdropping, Harry was actually relieved. The conversation he'd overheard was far more than he bargained for, the jumble of competing arguments and his own feelings on the matter leaving him confused and frustrated.

A shadow appeared behind them, making Harry, Ron and Hermione look around in trepidation. It was Sirius standing there above them, arms folded across his chest as he looked at them disapprovingly. He cast his eyes to the long pieces of string poking out of their ears, and he held out his hand expectantly.

Ron made a break for mercy. 'I'll feed Buckbeak for a week!'

Sirius just laughed silently, and then whispered back, 'I like feeding Buckbeak. He's the only one around here who doesn't give me a headache. Give 'em up.'

With no other option, the three of them hoisted the ears back up to the landing. But when they handed them over and Sirius pocketed the contraband, Harry noted a piece of string in the same colour already poking out of his pocket.

'Seems we weren't the only ones eavesdropping.'

'Get downstairs if you know what's good for you,' Sirius retorted, ignoring Harry's comment.

'Don't tell Mum, please,' Ron whispered as Sirius went on ahead of them. 'She'll go bezerk again.'

Sirius didn't reply, though Harry noted he made his footsteps rather louder than necessary, alerting Mr and Mrs Weasley downstairs that they were no longer alone. Waiting up on the landing a little longer Harry mulled over his thoughts, wondering if maybe there was truth to what Mrs Weasley had said.

Trying to put it out of his mind all together, something he was well practiced at these days, Harry followed his friends back downstairs and joined everyone for what was a thoroughly enjoyable dinner. The happy smile on his face was not one that felt forced, but one he couldn't hold back. There was no talk of Voldemort or any kind of prophecy, nor Harry's hearing that was becoming frighteningly close, and he was glad for all of these things.

That night when Harry climbed into his bed in the room he shared with Ron, he was only a little surprised to find all three of Fred and George's Extendable Ears tucked safely beneath his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As part of my AU I've tried a plot where Harry has an inkling about the Prophecy before he goes to the Department of Mysteries, and is naturally curious about it, but ultimately tries to put it out of his head because he knows this is the very information Voldemort would try to take from him by force.
> 
> Also didn't feel the need for Harry to blow up at Ron and Hermione. He had his angry outburst the night before at Sirius, and in this situation he arrives at Grimmauld Place and is given information straight away, and realises firsthand that Ron and Hermione don't know a thing. So him blowing up at them felt all wrong.
> 
> Thanks for the reviews - please let me know what you think about this chapter and the AU plot lines!


	22. Chapter 22 - After the Hearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 22 - After the Hearing

As the days passed and he settled in Harry developed a renewed sympathy for his godfather. While in Privet Drive Harry had been cut off from his friends and people he loved, but Sirius had literally not breathed fresh air since he returned to his childhood home. With the exception of the night he came to Privet Drive, Sirius had not stepped foot outside in well over six weeks.

Life at Grimmauld Place was in Harry's opinion, an enormous improvement on Privet Drive, though he seemed to be about the only one truly enjoying his time there. Mrs Black's portrait at the foot of the stairs had them all whispering and moving about on tenterhooks, while the insane House-Elf Kreacher was always lurking suspiciously, muttering perfectly audible expletives and insults to anyone he saw. They couldn't even find reprieve by going out into the back garden, for they couldn't guarantee protection from anyone in Sirius' extended family like the Malfoy's who might already know about this place and be watching it.

Ginny's fourteenth birthday came and passed, and though she tried to hide her disappointment that she couldn't have her friends visit they'd made a good day for her nonetheless. Order members came and went with great frequency, Harry and the others always taking every opportunity to catch a glimpse of someone or eavesdrop on a conversation. Thankfully Snape had yet to make another appearance, which came at a great relief to Harry who was on edge about their inevitable encounter.

There had been another purge of Extendable Ears, Mrs Weasley going bezerk when she found one in the pocket of Ginny's dressing down. But aside from the initial fallout that also fell to them, Fred and George were not at all concerned. They could easily make more, particularly with the funding Harry had gifted them after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and indeed they did. But it was increasingly risky to carry them around, Mrs Weasley beginning to stop them at random and make them turn out their pockets.

Sirius too had cracked down, confiscating one from Harry that really might have been more about earning approval from Mrs Weasley than policing eavesdroppers. Nevertheless none of them were deterred, and had simply switched to a new strategy of hiding the ears around the place so as to not be caught with them, but never find themselves without one handy. It had proved a useful strategy until Kreacher found one and began spying on them in return, cursing spectacularly when Sirius forced him to turn over every single one he had stowed away.

The days passed with what Mrs Weasley called 'cleaning', but in Harry's opinion they were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher. The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks.

They purged the enormous swarm of Doxys from the drawing room curtains on the first floor, and it took an entire day to clear out the trinkets from the cabinets in the ground floor dining room. It was also in the dining room that they encountered the dinner plate sized spiders Ron had seen, and even Harry who didn't mind spiders considered joining Ron for a cup of tea once he saw them.

Through every room in the house they worked, encountering more than a few portraits, tapestries and trinkets that simply would not budge. Sirius had shown Harry the Black Family tapestry in the drawing room, pointing out members of his family who had been blasted off by his mother, telling wild stories about his Uncle Billius who had left him a fortune of galleons. While Sirius recounted these stories he tried all he could to pull the enormous tapestry down, even hacking at it with the pocket knife he had given Harry and then attempting to set fire to it – but it made no use, and the tapestry stayed for now.

Despite the fact that he was still sleeping badly, still having dreams about corridors and locked doors that made his scar prickle, Harry was managing to have fun for the first time all summer. As long as he was busy he was happy; when the action abated, however, whenever he dropped his guard, or lay exhausted in bed watching blurred shadows move across the ceiling, his mind wandered to places too painful for him to dwell on. It was then he turned his thoughts to something just as worrying, but somewhat easier to deal with, the looming Ministry hearing.

Fear jabbed at his insides like needles as he wondered what was going to happen to him if he was expelled. The idea was so terrible that he did not dare voice it aloud, not even to Ron and Hermione, who, though he often saw them whispering together and casting anxious looks in his direction, followed his lead in not mentioning it. Sometimes, he could not prevent his imagination showing him a faceless Ministry official who was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys … but he would not go. He was determined on that. He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius.

Then before he was really ready for it, his hearing was the next morning, and he was seated at the kitchen table with Mr Weasley, Lupin and Sirius, the three of them preparing him for what was to come the next morning. They had offered extensive reassurances, explaining that it was really more of a meeting in Amelia Bones's office, that the title of 'hearing' was just a formality observed.

'There are two parts you'll have to explain,' Lupin told him, his voice taking on that calm and understanding tone Harry recalled from his Patronus lessons. 'First, that you were defending yourself and your cousin against Dementors. You're permitted to do magic to save your own life.'

'Why don't they already know that?'

'Those Dementors were never officially there,' Lupin explained. 'So, right now they probably think you were just showing off in front of your cousin.'

'That's the second part you have to explain,' Mr Weasley added. 'You must make it clear that your cousin was already aware of the wizarding world prior to that night. If he was already aware, then performing magic in front of him doesn't _strictly_ constitute a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy.'

'Stick to those points,' Lupin agreed. 'And don't bring up You Know Who, or anything that happened in June. It will only confuse things.'

Harry nodded, though he didn't feel much better. As the conversation continued he periodically glanced at Sirius, wishing he would speak up and say something. Apparently Dumbledore had stopped by late last night and had told Sirius he wasn't allowed to accompany Harry to his hearing, even under a Polyjuice disguise. But though Sirius had joined them to talk about the hearing, it seemed he had nothing to add to the conversation, and Harry got the feeling he was sulking about Dumbledore, not that Harry blamed him.

'Everything will be fine,' Sirius assured him the morning of the Hearing, giving him a last minute embrace as Harry and Mr Weasley prepared to depart. 'And if it's not, I'll see to Amelia Bones for you.'

Harry smiled weakly and thanked him, Mrs Weasley also hugging him. Ready to go Mr Weasley unbolted the door and they stepped out into the unusually cold, grey dawn to make their way to the Ministry.

* * *

'So, what will you have to do about the toilet?' Harry asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: he was cleared, _he was going back to Hogwarts_.

'Oh, it's a simple enough anti-jinx,' said Mr Weasley as they mounted the stairs, 'but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one –'

Mr Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from them, talking to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face.

The second man turned at the sound of their footsteps. He, too, broke off in mid-conversation, his cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry's face.

'Well, well, well … Patronus Potter,' said Lucius Malfoy coolly.

Harry felt winded, as though he had just walked into something solid. Before he could stop himself he took an abrupt step backwards, feeling a sense of cold spreading throughout his body.

After nearly two months of trying not to think about it, the torture he had suffered at the hands of this wizard came rushing back with startling clarity. He remembered it all too well, the agony of the Cruciatus that built up slowly until he was pleading for Malfoy to stop, his unrelenting cruelty and the awful threats he had made about Sirius and the Weasleys.

The possibility of running into one of the Death Eaters like this simply had not occurred to him. He could not believe that Malfoy was here in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him. Mere weeks ago he told Fudge that Malfoy was a Death Eater, that he had been tortured by him…it truly had fallen on deaf ears.

'The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape, Potter,' drawled Malfoy. 'Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes … snakelike, in fact.'

Mr Weasley placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, gripping it in warning. Suddenly Harry felt himself calming, remembering more details of their last encounter – specifically, the way he had fought back against Malfoy. In a moment of anger fuelled insanity Harry had attacked, disarming Malfoy with wandless magic and taking possession of his wand.

'How's your head?' he asked, his voice sounding braver than his heart felt. 'Last I saw, you had a nasty bump on it.'

For a second Malfoy looked visibly perturbed by this comment, his eyes narrowing as he sneered down at Harry. Perhaps he knew that Harry would not publicly accuse him right in front of Fudge, not given the difficult time he was getting from the Ministry, and as if he'd said nothing at all he turned back to Fudge.

'Shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?'

Harry looked at Fudge now, hoping that against all the odds he might see some sign of understanding dawning, that perhaps something might change after seeing this brief encounter with Malfoy and his accuser. But it was a useless hope, for Fudge simply looked at him as disapprovingly as he had in the Courtroom, still displeased with the outcome.

'Certainly,' said Fudge, turning his back on Harry and Mr Weasley. 'This way, Lucius.'

They strode off together, talking in low voices, and Mr Weasley did not let go of Harry's shoulder. Standing there Harry watched as the lift doors closed, staring Lucius Malfoy down and relishing in the fact that he had once managed to frighten one of Voldemort's most vicious Death Eaters, even if only briefly.

Beside him Mr Weasley let out a heavy breath, sounding winded. He let go of Harry's shoulder now, giving it an awkward pat as he pressed the button to summon the next lift. 'Let's just get you back so you can tell the others the good news.'

It took Harry a moment to realise what he was talking about, to remember he'd just been acquitted by a full Wizengamot trial. When the next lift arrived and Harry stepped on he made a point of looking back into the empty corridor as if expecting to see another Death Eater out there plain as day. It was a relief when the doors closed, safely encasing him in the lift with only Mr Weasley, whisking them both directly to the atrium.

The atrium was now almost-deserted, and he followed Mr Weasley straight past the golden fountain, completely forgetting his mental promise to put ten galleons in. The encounter with Malfoy had jolted him, leaving him feeling shaky and on edge. He looked over his shoulder as they walked, worried by the voices of a witches who sat on the edge of the fountain.

To his horror Harry felt himself starting to slow down. It was getting harder to draw breath, harder to keep his mind straight against the intrusive thoughts that rushed in, telling him that something was wrong, that Voldemort must be nearby – something was going to happen. He stopped in his tracks, momentarily confused…

'Come on now,' Mr Weasley encouraged, his hand on Harry's back ushering him forward, keeping him moving. 'We'll be home in no time.'

His legs felt completely numb, but somehow he managed to continue putting one foot in front of the other. A short while later he found himself on an underground train, quite safe seated next to Mr Weasley who was watching him from the corner of his eye. Not entirely sure how he made it there Harry let out a slow breath. When they arrived at the next station he looked up. Two more stops to go.

'What was Malfoy doing down there?'

When he spoke Mr Weasley let out a visible sigh of relief. 'Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me,' he said, looking extremely bothered by the whole thing. 'I'll leave a note for Dumbledore when I drop you off, he ought to know Malfoy's been talking to Fudge again.'

Harry said nothing more on the subject, feeling mentally spent by the time they emerged back into the streets above. It was warmer out now, the sun beaming down on him, but he paid it no attention. More than ever he looked forward to retreating into the grim darkness of Grimmauld Place, hoping that once the fuss of his acquittal died down he might be able to find some peace to lie down.

'Harry, are you alright?' Mr Weasley asked in concern.

The two of them now stood outside Grimmauld Place, pausing at the front door before going in. Mr Weasley was looking at him critically, brow furrowed.

'Yeah, I'm aright,' he said brightly, convincing himself too. 'Just threw me a little, seeing him. That's all.'

'Mmm, you and me both,' Mr Weasley said unhappily, still peering at him. 'You should know that Malfoy would never try anything in such a public place. That man is many things, but not an imbecile.'

'Sure,' he said dismissively, awkwardly gesturing to the door. 'Should we go in?'

'Oh, yes of course,' Mr Weasley agreed, tapping the door with his wand and waiting for the loud metallic clicks to finish before it opened itself to admit them.

Stepping over the threshold Harry thanked Mr Weasley for accompanying him, grateful he didn't have to navigate any of that completely alone. Whispering _not at all, not at all,_ Mr Weasley ushered him down into the kitchen, from which the delicious smell of breakfast was wafting.

The moment Harry entered the kitchen he saw a celebration of sorts was already underway.

'I knew it!' yelled Ron, punching the air. 'You always get away with stuff!'

'They were bound to clear you,' said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety and was holding a shaking hand over her eyes, 'there was no case against you, none at all.'

'You know already?'

'Dumbledore stopped by, very briefly,' Mrs Weasley explained, wiping her face with her apron. 'You've not long missed him. Congratulations, dear.'

'Thanks,' he said slowly, feeling a little deflated. Mr Weasley had already crossed the kitchen, intercepting Sirius before he could come over. He watched them talking quietly for a few moments, Sirius's expression darkening. 'Did Dumbledore say when he's coming by again?'

'I bet Dumbledore turns up this evening, to celebrate with us, you know,' Ron said happily.

Mrs Weasley shook her head. 'I don't think he'll be able to, Ron. He's really very busy at the moment.'

The hurt Harry felt over Dumbledore's strange behaviour only intensified now with the realisation that he had just missed him. He wondered if Dumbledore had left because he knew he was almost back, certain that he really was avoiding him. But he was spared from thinking about this much longer, for word was spreading round the busy kitchen about their encounter with Lucius Malfoy. The war cry of _he got off_ died down as everyone looked at one another.

'What did he say to you?' Sirius demanded, coming to Harry's side.

'Nothing, really. Just being a prick, that's all,' he said bluntly, knowing that in this context not even Mrs Weasley would scold him for his choice of language.

'And what did you say?'

'I asked him how the bump on his head was. I made him bleed, back then.'

Sirius's expression was difficult to read, and he looked around at the others now, a silent conversation appearing to pass between all the adults there. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Lupin, Tonks and Sirius all seemed hesitant about something, thrown off kilter by Lucius Malfoy.

Standing up from the table Lupin crossed the room and passed Mr Weasley a single scroll of parchment. Unfurling it Mr Weasley began to read, and before anyone could think to stop him Harry moved closer, catching a glimpse of messy handwriting on Ministry of Magic stationery.

'It's not unexpected given the verdict,' Mr Weasley commented, rolling the parchment up again. 'We hoped this would finally get her over the line.'

He turned to Harry now, visibly bracing himself as he began to continue, but then Sirius abruptly cut him off.

'Later,' he said, his voice sounding overly cheerful. 'Breakfast is nearly ready, let's eat.'

'No,' Harry protested, knowing something was afoot, something to do with him. 'What's going on?'

'Sirius is right,' Mrs Weasley said, flicking her wand so that the plates and cutlery flew out of the cabinets and set themselves onto the table. 'It's nothing that can't wait until later. Ron dear, put on a pot of tea. The big one.'

No one moved a muscle, and the fact that Sirius and Mrs Weasley were in agreement did not deter Harry. He looked at Sirius expectantly, and then to Mr Weasley, making it clear to both of them that he would not sit down like a good little boy until he knew what was going on.

'Alright then,' Sirius said, looking to Fred, George, Ron, Hermione and Ginny. 'Give us a minute.'

'What? Hang on, we want to hear too!' George protested, as did Ron and Hermione.

'If something's going on with Harry, we ought to know,' Hermione said, jumping to her feet. 'Harry would want us to.'

'Yeah!' Ron said.

Mrs Weasley rounded on them, brandishing a spatula. 'You heard Sirius. Out! Upstairs, now. And woe betide the fool who gets caught with one of those ears under the kitchen door!'

They didn't leave without a fuss, arguing for every possible moment until Mrs Weasley slammed the kitchen door shut, casting an Impertuable Charm. They waited a few moments until the protests outside stopped, Tonks cringing when Mrs Black's portrait started going off, but no one left downstairs hurried to close the curtains.

'What's going on?' Harry asked expectantly, declining Sirius' suggestion that he sit down. He looked around at everyone present, but it was to his godfather he addressed his question.

Sirius cleared his throat before speaking. 'Do you recall what I told you about Dumbledore putting the word out? That he's trying a new strategy involving you.'

'I remember.'

'Dumbledore has been appealing to Madam Bones to talk to you. She's a reasonable witch, she doesn't suffer fools like Fudge. If anyone high up at the Ministry would hear you out, it's her.'

'Hear me out?' he questioned, his heart beat beginning to pick up. 'How?'

Sirius continued. 'Dumbledore's been asking for weeks that you come to Madam Bones's office and make a statement about what happened. He wants your story to be formally taken, by Bones herself. Once that happens, it's one step closer to the Ministry being forced to at least acknowledge what you've said.'

He glanced at the scroll of Ministry parchment Mr Weasley was holding. 'She's going to let me talk to her?'

'Yes.' Sirius passed him the scroll and allowed him to read it. 'She wants you to come in as soon as possible. Chased Dumbledore down in the atrium and gave him this herself.'

Hands shaking again, Harry unfurled the scroll and began to read.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Further to the requests of Professor Albus Dumbledore, I invite you to a meeting in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to give a formal statement regarding the events of the 24_ _th_ _and 25_ _th_ _June._

_As you are underage you are required to be in the presence of a suitable parent or guardian. Accommodations can be made for the attendance of your family members Mr and Mrs Dursley, if that is your wish._

_If agreeable, please respond with a date and time of your convenience._

_With best wishes,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Madam Amelia Bones_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_Ministry of Magic_

Harry read the letter twice, trying to wrap his head around its meaning. 'I didn't ask for this.'

'Dumbledore arranged. It I know we're blindsiding you, an-'

'This is more than blindsiding me,' he argued. 'Dumbledore did this behind my back?'

'This is important, Harry,' Sirius implored. 'Making this official could change a lot of things.'

Harry looked around in disbelief, unable to comprehend what they were expecting. 'You want me to tell them everything I already told Dumbledore? What's the point? No one will listen.'

'Madam Bones is willing to listen. Harry, if we get her on side that's a big deal.'

'It would make a huge difference,' Tonks agreed, standing up from her seat at the table. 'Your statement would be flagged for the Auror Office, and once it comes to us we'd have to open an investigation. It's the law.'

'There hasn't been an investigation already?' he questioned even more incredulously.

'Only an informal one that Fudge stopped before we even got started. But if it's official like this, Fudge can't stop it.'

'An open investigation that not even Fudge can bury will give you and Dumbledore enormous credibility,' Lupin added next. 'It would influence public perception, which as you know plays a major role in the decision making of wizards like Fudge.'

Stopping to think, Harry looked back at the letter from Madam Bones. The handwriting was messy and hurried, looking as though she had perhaps even written it on the back of her briefcase, moments after chasing down Dumbledore in the atrium.

Madam Bones had seemed reasonable at his hearing, she was willing to let him speak and had appeared to listen. But he had already told Dumbledore everything, reciting every awful event. Doing that again would be forcing himself to think about it, to bring those memories back from the darkest corner of his mind where he had tried to desperately to hide them.

He wanted to ask them if Dumbledore couldn't speak to Madam Bones on Harry's behalf. But he already knew the answer, trusting at least that if Dumbledore could have spared him from this, he would have. For a little longer he stared at the letter, mulling over his thoughts.

'Dumbledore's been asking for this meeting?' he clarified, not looking up. 'He wants me to do this?'

'Yes.'

With a short nod Harry rolled the letter back into the scroll and made his decision. If he had to do this, without even being asked, then he was going to get something out of it.

'I'll do it,' he stated solidly, looking at them all. They were visibly relieved by his decision, Sirius reaching out to clasp him on the shoulder, but Harry stepped away, blocking his hand. 'But only when Dumbledore asks me himself.'

The brief flurry of relief died quickly, and instantly Harry knew he had asked for the impossible. Lupin and Tonks exchanged a glance, as did the others, and so he continued before any of them could put up a flimsy argument or excuse.

'Dumbledore might have turned the hearing for me today, I don't doubt that. But he wouldn't even look at me. So he can ask me himself.'

Leaving them in what felt like stunned silence, Harry turned on his heel and departed the kitchen without another word, feeling that he had put up with quite enough that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new subplot in the AU, that Harry gets to formally make a statement to the Ministry. I know that for the sake of plot we suspend belief about some things, but I find it strange that an Auror Department wouldn't want to at least talk to Harry regardless of political pressure, particularly given a school student died.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the little encounter with Malfoy. Next chapter posted this weekend - thanks for the reviews everyone!


	23. Chapter 23 - The Terrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 23 - The Terrace

The discussion about Madam Bones was not at all easy to avoid, not that Harry had expected it to simply go away – but to his frustration his demand to speak to Dumbledore appeared to have fallen on deaf ears.

Over the next two days Harry soon grew sick and tired of the Order members at Grimmauld Place making excuses for Dumbledore, insisting that he was too busy to come by Headquarters, that he had others places he had to be. On more than once occasion Harry had told Sirius to shut up about it, and the second time he had earned himself a rather surprising rebuke for his attitude.

An argument had unfolded, Harry losing his temper and beginning to yell, thought he only grew more infuriated when Sirius simply walked away and ignored him. It was hard to shout at someone who wouldn't stand there and take it.

Since then, the Order seemed to have banded together, and Harry suspiciously found himself alone with Mrs Weasley more often than usual. Folding laundry, cleaning mould from an old cupboard, sorting junk from valuables, and working in the kitchen. It seemed she needed help from only one person, and Harry found himself stuck in the kitchen chopping vegetables for that evening's dinner while Mrs Weasley chattered at him, talking about Dumbledore at great length.

'…and he's having terrible trouble finding a new teacher to replace Alastor,' she sighed, supervising a knife that was cutting celery while also adding bones to a pot of beef stock. 'He's not even in the country, you know,' she added in a low voice, unaware Harry already knew this thanks to the Extendable Ears. 'He's over in America looking for teachers there.'

Giving as few responses as he could, Harry chopped the carrots with unnecessary force, furious with the whole lot of them. Seemed the Order knew him well, understanding that the only person he would never talk back to was Mrs Weasley…bastards. She was the only one who stood a chance of talking to him, not that it meant he had to be too polite about it all.

'Must be run off his feet if he can't even put quill to parchment and write me a letter.'

'Love, he can't possibly send an owl across an ocean that size. It'd never make it.'

'They have the Floo in America.'

Mrs Weasley didn't argue this, though she was warily watching him cutting the carrots. Noticing her attention he began to cut a little faster and rougher, hoping he'd do such a terrible job she'd release him from the task.

'You're going to lose a finger doing that.'

'Would it get me flowers from Dumbledore?'

Mrs Weasley sighed, recognising that she wasn't making any headway. Not that she was giving up. 'Why don't you start on those spuds for me, hmm?' she suggested, prying the knife out of his hand. 'Much safer I think.'

Even more annoyed now, Harry picked up the peeler and got to work, resigning himself to losing the battle but winning the war. Two days had passed now, Madam Bones's letter having received no reply, and Harry wondered if Dumbledore knew he was holding out. Maybe the Order hadn't told him about Harry's request, maybe this was their fault.

Yet it was much easier to hold only one person to blame, and so he settled on his former conviction that it was Dumbledore's fault. It was Dumbledore who was ignoring him, determined to play a game of chicken until one of them made the first move. Well that was just fine with Harry.

The letter from Bones was now crumpled from the many times he had read it, his eyes scanning the simple letter again and again. _A formal statement regarding the events of the 24_ _th_ _and 25_ _th_ _June._ It would be making it official, his claims becoming a matter of Ministry record forever. That thought alone was awfully tempting. Voldemort wouldn't stay hidden forever. One day he would come out of hiding and Harry would be proven truthful. Everyone would know he was not the deluded liar the newspaper was making him out to be.

But the thought of doing it all again…recounting every moment to a stranger who, despite her invitation, was probably not inclined to believe him. This was the hard part, the idea of having to sit in front of someone and put into words what happened to him. It had been hard enough doing that for Dumbledore, and back then he was still numb to the memories, and he had Sirius by his side.

By now Harry had spent near two months trying to tell himself that none of it had happened, pushing the memories into the deepest recesses of his mind so that he could forget it had ever happened. Giving this statement would mean bringing it all back, experiencing it all over again, this time without Sirius and without Dumbledore.

He would have been surprised if the Order had given up after Mrs Weasley's attempt to convince him, and they had not. So the third day after his hearing when Sirius asked for help feeding Buckbeak, Harry knew what it was really about – as if Sirius needed help tossing dead rats to a Hippogriff.

They walked together in silence, going all the way upstairs to the very top floor, higher than Harry had gone before. It was up here that Sirius first spoke, gesturing to the door on their right at the far end of the hall.

'That's my old room. I'll show you around, when you're a little older.'

Following him towards the other door, Harry raised his eyebrows. 'What have you got in there?'

'Anything and everything that would make my mother's blood boil.'

They entered the room at the other end of the landing, Sirius strolling straight inside while Harry approached a little more cautiously. The master bedroom had a rather pungent smell of feathers and old straw, but given a wild animal was living there it was surprisingly clean. A thick layer of straw was strewn all over the carpet, while the grand four poster bed had been destroyed by Buckbeak's inclination to scratch and bite at the timber to amuse himself.

Without needing to bow Sirius had already tossed the first dead rat to Buckbeak, the Hippogriff happily getting up to greet him. As he crunched on the rat he let Sirius rub the feathers between his eyes while he watched Harry rather cautiously. Suitably cautious but not afraid, Harry came a few steps closer and then bent forward into a bow, holding Buckbeak's gaze and not letting himself blink even once.

Buckbeak stared at Harry a few moments, still crunching the rat in his beak. After considering him a few moments Buckbeak lowered himself into a bow, approving. Relieved, Harry came forward and took one of the pigeons from the sack and offered it, Buckbeak taking it without a moment of hesitation.

'Check on his feathers over there,' Sirius instructed, already moving down Buckbeak's right side, hands stroking him with care. 'They've been getting twisted up lately.'

'How long does he have to stay here?' Harry asked, copying Sirius. As if he knew his process well Buckbeak had automatically lifted his wings, exposing the feathers underneath that were perfectly smooth and uniform.

'Thinking a little longer at least,' Sirius said grimly. 'It's not kind to keep him here, but once Hagrid's back he should be able to go to Hogwarts again. Enough time should have passed by now.'

'Where's Hagrid?'

Sirius's brief hesitation made Harry look around, and he suspected Sirius had said too much. 'He's in France, visiting Madam Maxime. What a couple…'

'Careful,' Harry warned, noticing they had Buckbeak's attention having mentioned Hagrid. Knowing Buckbeak's sense of loyalty he suspected even a friendly quip about Hagrid and Madam Maxime would not be taken well. 'So where is he really?'

'In France, visiting Maxime.'

His tone of voice was telling Harry to drop it, and so he did for now, figuring there would be better times to interrogate Sirius about Hagrid's whereabouts. Buckbeak was squawking at them impatiently, and he nudged Sirius who carried the bag of dead animals.

Apologising, Sirius hastened to take out another pigeon and allowed Buckbeak take it from his hand. 'Good boy.'

'Should we be feeding him pigeons?' Harry asked quietly, suddenly realising it was a half bird eating birds.

'I thought it was an unusual choice too. But he likes what he likes.' Sirius replied, choosing his words carefully so as to not offend. 'He got himself a taste of Death Eater back in June. I wasn't going to tell you,' he added lightly, glancing at Harry. 'I was at Hogwarts by this time anyway, but seems they did call on the cave at Hogsmeade.'

'Oh,' Harry murmured, his heart sinking. He had come to think that Malfoy's threat against Sirius was empty, that he had been so startled by Harry's outburst of wandless magic that he didn't dare go after him. Seemed he had been wrong.

'There was some torn fabric and blood when I went back there to get him. A mask too. Buckbeak seemed very pleased with himself. I was always telling him to guard the place.'

'I'd bet they weren't expecting him,' Harry laughed, feeling a little lighter as he imagined how it might have unfolded. 'They knew where you were, but they didn't mention him.'

'I'm sure they got quite a shock,' Sirius laughed too, rubbing Buckbeak's head affectionately. 'You're a good Hippogriff, aren't you? And you always shared your pigeons.'

Buckbeak glowed under Sirius' praise, lifting his head higher into the air before squawking again, requesting another helping of food. Acquiescing, Sirius fed him a pigeon this time and then passed the bag to Harry, letting him offer the last.

Buckbeak seemed a little mistrustful now, but when they showed him that the bag was empty he seemed to accept it. Letting them stroke his feathers one more time he wandered to the far corner of the room where a large basketball sat, and he amused himself by kicking it around and chasing it.

'Come over here,' Sirius gestured, leading Harry to the bank of floor to ceiling windows at the front of the house. They were open to admit fresh air, but upon looking more closely he could see that one of them was actually a door, while beyond it seemed to be a small terrace. 'Come see this.'

Despite his eagerness, Harry stopped. 'We're not supposed to go outside.'

'That's the back garden. This here is still part of the house, so we're quite safe.'

Trusting him, Harry eagerly moved forward when Sirius ushered him through the door, and the moment he stepped foot into the fresh air he gasped in astonishment. Spread out before him was the London skyline, the sky cast in a beautiful glow from the setting sun. For a moment Harry simply stood there and admired it. He had never before seen the city in such a way.

'Beautiful, isn't it,' Sirius commented, following him out.

Harry nodded in agreement. He looked around when Sirius pressed a bottle of Butterbeer into his hands, taking the cap off. 'This is where you are when you disappear every evening? I thought you were just avoiding Mrs Weasley.'

'That's more of a bonus,' Sirius joked grimly, conjuring up two chairs for them. 'Some people get along better when they don't spend too much time in each other's hair.'

He was unable to disagree, though the last few days were an exception. Sirius and Mrs Weasley were getting along fabulously given they were on the same side about Harry's demand regarding Dumbledore. Having not forgotten about this Harry sipped at his butterbeer, he and Sirius putting their feet up on the railing and making themselves comfortable as they watched the setting sun together.

'So, go on then,' he said expectantly, feeling enough time had passed. 'What do you want?'

Sirius looked at him sidelong, having wondered how long it would take for this discussion to begin. 'I can't hang out with my godson?'

'Don't pretend you haven't got an ulterior motive.'

'Fine. Call me out on it before I can get you all buttered up,' Sirius smiled, though he quickly sobered. 'You know what we have to talk about. Dumbledore _.'_

Already annoyed, it was difficult to keep his temper from the get go. 'Am I being unreasonable?' he asked loudly. 'After everything that happened he can't spare five minutes to ask me himself for a favour. He stuck me in Privet Drive, I had almost no contact with anyone for six weeks, and at my hearing he wouldn't even look at me.'

'In your position, I'd be kicking up just as much of a stink about it,' Sirius acknowledged. 'But Harry, you're not going to win this one.'

'I am if he wants me to talk to Bones.'

Sirius just shook his head. 'Dumbledore is far older, wiser and more stubborn than you. Yes, more stubborn than you. He's not coming.'

Turning away Harry looked out across the city, falling silent as he thought this over. He felt completely powerless. At first the letter from Madam Bones had presented him leverage, the opportunity to gain an advantage and force Dumbledore's hand, but it wasn't going to work. Why was Dumbledore doing this to him?

'So he _is_ avoiding me?'

'Yes, he is,' Sirius confirmed, relieved that Harry's burst of anger seemed to have dissipated. 'I'm sorry, I know that's not the answer you wanted. This is just the way it has to be.'

'I'm not asking for too much. All I want is a conversation.'

'Well you're going to have to patient, because this is about protecting you.' When Harry looked at him expectantly Sirius continued, explaining further. 'The questions Voldemort asked you. He thinks there's some relationship between you and Dumbledore, and that's got Dumbledore worried. If Voldemort thinks your relationship is anything more than headmaster and student he'll use it against you.'

'How?' he asked in intrigue, clinging to this small slither of information. Sirius hadn't said much, but it was a relief to hear even that small tidbit. Voldemort was interested in his relationship with Dumbledore. The interrogation had not been for no reason. 'How could he use that against me?'

'He could blackmail you, threaten you, trick you…do you see? By keeping his distance, Dumbledore is trying to give Voldemort fewer reasons to bother.'

'Then why can't he just tell me that?' Harry implored, still unsatisfied. 'One conversation. That's all I'm asking for!'

'I can only trust that he's acting in your best interests.' Sirius sighed now, his features darkening as he looked out towards the city, thinking hard. 'Harry, what we negotiated with Voldemort, it put-'

'Put me in more danger, yeah I know,' he said impatiently, having heard this before. 'It was Snape's idea, so you can quit beating yourself up about it.'

'And you can quit being blasé,' Sirius sharply rebuked. 'We've given Voldemort the idea that you can be useful to him one day. This thing with Dumbledore is just one of the consequences.'

'So Dumbledore won't hold a single conversation with me? I have to just put up with being ignored?'

'It's not personal.'

Harry turned away again. 'It is personal,' he said quietly, trying to explain. 'When I go back to Hogwarts again, Dumbledore will be the only one there who…who knows.'

'You've got McGonagall. She's in the Order.'

'Yeah, right,' he said glumly, not agreeing at all. McGonagall was a good and fair teacher, but even if she was part of the Order he didn't think he could go to her about anything to do with Voldemort. 'I'm just saying, it might not be personal to him but it is to me.'

Sirius didn't say anything more. Instead they fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence, both knowing that there was plenty more to say, that no agreement about Madam Bones or Dumbledore had been reached. The only slither of information that Harry had gained was that Voldemort's interest in his relationship with Dumbledore had not been a passing thought during his interrogation. It had made Dumbledore worried, and was the cause of him ceasing all contact with Harry. But for how long? Sirius might insist that none of it was personal to Dumbledore, but it was personal to Harry.

Still unsatisfied, Harry followed Sirius' gaze out across the horizon, watching the sky change colour as lights began to illuminate all across the city. The glow was beautiful, reminding him vividly of Hogwarts at night time. Though he sometimes complained about it, he had enjoyed Quidditch practice at night time, often finding himself distracted mid-air by the sight of the illuminated castle. Merlin, how he was looking forward to returning to Hogwarts, to settling back into something normal like classes and Quidditch.

'I'll talk to Madam Bones,' he said quietly, giving up. 'But I want you to tell Dumbledore I still want to see him.'

'You're doing the right thing,' Sirius sighed, clasping him on the shoulder for a moment. 'Making this whole thing formal will help. I'll speak to Arthur about when he can take you.'

'You can't come with me?' he asked hopefully, but already knowing the answer.

Sirius shook his head, his face twitching as though trying not to grimace. 'I was going to ask if I could use Polyjuice to go a, but Dumbledore's right. Besides, if you got caught in my company it would only give credence to that Rita Skeeter article. I'm sorry.'

'It's okay. I don't want you to take any risks.' Finishing the last of his butterbeer he saw that Sirius too was finished, as was their conversation. 'Do we have to go in now?'

Considering this a moment, Sirius shook his head. 'Not unless you want to.'

Harry also shook his head, preferring to stay out here for as long as he could. Sirius summoned both of them a fresh bottle of butterbeer, extending their stay up there on the small terrace. Together they sat for almost an hour, at first making inconsequential small talk before Sirius meandered off on a long winded tangent about his Uncle Billius.

Listening in fascination Harry temporarily switched his mind off and simply enjoyed his godfather's company, this being the first time they had ever really hung out together. But lingering in the back of his mind was the agreement he had just made, that he would go and speak to Madam Bones at the Ministry. He would be recounting everything that had happened to him at the graveyard, from Cedric's murder to the torture he'd endured, and being taken to Malfoy Manor.

He knew that the Order had promised doing this would give him credibility, that it would put the truth out there and be recorded forever. But like most things these days, Harry couldn't help but fear it would only make things worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read, hope you enjoyed. Tried to go for a sassy Harry line, hope it landed well!
> 
> Hopefully was clear that the Order weren't going to force Harry to do anything he didn't want to do - their only resistance was that Dumbledore was not coming to see Harry. Other than that it was to be entirely his choice - we'll explore that a little more in the next chapter.
> 
> Cheers!


	24. Chapter 24 - Late Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 24 - Late Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to clarify something, as I may not have properly explained the origins of the Madam Bones meeting.
> 
> Dumbledore and the Order definitely kept it quiet that they were trying to convince Madam Bones to meet with Harry, but not because they wanted to railroad Harry into a meeting he wasn't comfortable with. Their intent was that they would only bother Harry with the request once they had Bones's agreement, rather than have him be let down when she refused the meeting.
> 
> So the meeting was always meant to be entirely Harry's choice, they just didn't want him worried about it until it was actually a true possibility. The only source of conflict was meant to be Harry trying to use it as leverage to talk to Dumbledore, not him being forced into it.

It was the night before Harry's meeting with Madam Bones, a meeting that had started to go off the rails before it even began.

Trying not to think about it too much Harry joined Ron, Hermione and Ginny in the drawing room. After their cleaning battle it was now safe to use this room, the last remnants of Sirius's family being the tapestry and serpent candelabras. The creepy furniture and cabinets had been cleared out, and only two unobjectionable couches and a coffee table remained, meaning the bare room echoed rather eerily.

Hermione was curled up reading a book and Ginny was playing with Crookshanks on the floor, while Harry and Ron were playing chess yet again. Though Harry often grew impatient and played mostly for Ron's sake, Ron never tired of the game unless his opponents were particularly easy to beat.

Over the years Harry had gotten better at the game, he had after all never dreamed of playing against Dudley in their childhood, yet he was still an easy opponent against Ron. That evening though he felt bad, conscious that he wasn't really paying attention and was making it far too easy for Ron to beat him. Yet just as he vowed to pay attention and give his mate a good run, his mind would wander once more.

The meeting with Madam Bones had been scheduled for exactly a week after his hearing, allowing Harry a few days to prepare himself after having reached his decision. He hadn't wanted to put it off for long, preferring to not spend his last few weeks of the school holidays dreading something yet again.

Leading up to it Kingsley and Tonks had repeatedly assured him that Madam Bones would be fair interviewer, but had wasted no time in working to get him ready and prepared. Aside from getting his thoughts in order about the whole ordeal itself there seemed to be a great deal he had to remember on principle. He had to pretend that Snape had nothing to do with his release, he wasn't to divulge the questions Voldemort had asked him. He could claim that Sirius was innocent but deny being in contact with him...the number of things to remember had his mind in a twist.

Kingsley in particular had been keen to help him prepare, having known Madam Bones for quite some time. One evening after dinner he had stayed late with Harry, the two of them sitting across from each other in the drawing room. Madam Bones would be fair, but shrewd with her questioning – she was after all, not inclined to believe him unless there was undeniable truth.

'Bones will be looking for consistency and a story that makes sense,' Kingsley explained, his low and gentle voice rather soothing. 'And when compared to your story about You-Know-Who, believing that Crouch was a mad man makes quite good sense.'

'So she already doesn't want to believe me,' Harry stated in annoyance.

Kingsley deliberated on this, not denying it. 'She's giving you a chance. Her willingness to go against Fudge speaks volumes to her faith in Dumbledore. She may not _want_ to believe you, but she won't turn a blind eye if your story feels plausible.'

Harry nodded, feeling somewhat reassured. 'And if I…if I don't want to talk about something?'

'You don't have to. If she asks you a question you don't want to answer, tell her you don't want to answer.'

'I can do that?'

'Of course you can. You're not under arrest. You can ask for a break, you can ask to finish early and come back another day. You can get up and walk out without explanation, though we'd rather you didn't do _that_. This meeting is entirely on your terms.'

It was this understanding that had given Harry some confidence, emboldened by the idea that he could refuse to answer questions, that he could leave if he wanted to. But like most good things right now, his confidence lasted only briefly. Two days out from the meeting Kingsley and Tonks had come to Grimmauld Place during the day when they were normally at work, delivering a letter Dumbledore had received on behalf of Harry.

'Someone found out about your meeting with Bones,' Tonks informed them. 'It got to be Fudge.'

'It was a secret?' asked Harry.

'Biggest secret since the drummer in the Weird Sisters died. So Fudge knows, and now-'

'He's not coming, is he?'

Tonks and Kingsley exchanged a worried glance. 'Dolores Umbridge is coming,' Kingsley said apologetically. 'She's Senior Undersecretary to Fudge.'

Harry's heart sank, and he looked around at Sirius as if there was something he could do. 'She was at my hearing,' he began, trying to find the right words to explain. 'She was…'

'Awful?' Tonks supplied angrily. 'She's the reason people like Remus can't get decent work.'

Kingsley quickly spoke up again, seeing that Harry's face was falling. 'Yes, Umbridge is awful. But you still need to do this.'

'Not if she's going to be there!'

'I'm going to be there too now. So is my boss, Rufus Scrimgeour. As soon as Bones realised what Fudge was doing she went straight to Scrimgeour, and he agreed we would join her.'

'Umbridge works for Fudge. She won't hear me out.'

Sirius stepped in now. 'Harry, there will be three people in that meeting who will give you a chance,' he said urgently. 'You cannot back down.'

The sudden change had thrown him completely, leaving him more nervous and unsettled than he had felt in days prior. Ignoring what everyone else said he had seriously considered calling the whole thing off in protest. Kingsley would have been fine, and he had vouched for Scrimgeour's impartiality – but Umbridge? She had been awful enough in his hearing, yet now he was expected to recount his absolute worst experiences in front of her.

'It's an intimidation tactic,' Hermione later said, angrily pacing up and down the shared bedroom. 'Oh, I just hate that he can do this. It's such an abuse of power.'

'You can't cancel, mate,' Ron added, looking rather more worried than he had before. 'You'd be letting him win.'

'Ron's right. You must not let him intimidate you.'

'Easy for you lot to say,' Harry countered, feeling sick to the stomach. 'You're not the ones who have to do it.'

Hermione stopped pacing, urgently sitting beside him on the bed as she all but pleaded with him. 'I know, I know Harry – we've got no idea how hard this will be for you. But please, don't let Fudge win. You have to get the truth on record, you just have to!'

In the end it was Ron and Hermione who had convinced him to go ahead. The instant he knew he was going through with it nerves hit him hard, for until now he had felt prepared. His thoughts had been in order, he was ready – but now everything was scattered, and when he tried taking himself through the events it was harder to keep track. The whole situation weighed on him day and night, unsettling what had previously been a state of strange sense of acceptance, or perhaps it was more aptly described as denial.

The last day before the interview had passed excruciatingly slowly, and that evening he only picked at dinner, a roast he normally would have enjoyed thoroughly. He could feel everyone watching him from the corner of their eyes, studying him, and it was a relief to retreat upstairs and just be with his friends.

'Oh bloody hell mate,' Ron moaned when Harry made his chess move. 'I left that Bishop wide open. You could have had me!'

Harry looked at the chess board, bringing his focus back to the game. 'You're letting me win?'

'I'm trying to,' Ron said in exasperation. 'But you're making it hard to throw the game.'

'Sorry. Give me back my move, I'll take the bishop.'

'No, you had your chance.' Ron took Harry's knight, and then two moves later the game was over.

Apologising again, Harry stood up from the couch and faked a yawn. 'I'm going to bed.'

'One more game? Go on…'

'Play Ginny. You two haven't argued all day.'

'That's true,' Ginny piped up, coming over with Crookshanks nestled in her arms. 'We can fix that.'

The moment Crookshanks saw his opportunity he leapt down from Ginny's arms and dove for the remaining chess pieces, scattering them as they screamed in terror. Leaving the sibling argument to unfold Harry bade them all goodnight and then made a swift departure. He didn't say goodnight to anyone else in the house, wanting to avoid them as best he could given what was coming tomorrow.

In bed he turned on his side and faced away from the door, wanting to pretend he was sleeping when Ron eventually came in. The idea of falling asleep that night was laughable. His brain was too switched on, his body alert and ready for what was coming tomorrow. He wished he could snap his fingers and take himself forward in time, that he could just get this over with so he could stop dreading it.

Laying awake for hours the night before wasn't going to benefit him, and now he longed for more of the sleeping potion Madam Pomfrey had given him the night he returned from Voldemort. That was exactly what he needed tonight, to simply be able to take a drink and then pleasantly fall asleep. After taking that potion he had woken well rested and feeling more like himself…he briefly wondered if maybe Sirius miraculously had some of that potion around, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and ask.

Pounding his pillow to make it more comfortable, Harry lay down again and stared out the open window, wondering where Hedwig was that night, if she'd found success in her hunt. As he lay there his mind wandered, worried that he might encounter Lucius Malfoy for a second time, or if there might be someone else he recognised as a Death Eater. They were everywhere, hiding in plain sight as if they had done nothing wrong.

Before he could stop himself his mind wandered down a dark path, beginning to think about what it would have been like had Voldemort stuck with his initial decision to keep him at Malfoy Manor. Voldemort had given the impression he was supposed to be a guest, that there would be comforts of home and he'd be taken care of. Was it all a trick, or would things have changed once Voldemort was done with him. Would he really have been treated like a guest? Might he have even encountered Draco Malfoy?

More like he would have served as his class mate's first introduction to the Death Eater's way of life...

When there was a soft knock at the door Harry stayed still and silent. He knew it wasn't Ron, who would not have bothered knocking. Facing away from the door he kept his eyes open when he heard to door knob turn and the hinges creak, someone slowly opening it. He would see their silhouette reflected in the window, and he sensed that it was Sirius.

Sirius lingered for a few moments, but as if deciding against waking Harry he left, quietly closing the door. Harry was relieved. There was nothing more to talk about, no advice Sirius could give that he hadn't already. This thing with Bones and the others just had to be done, and then finally he could look forward to going back to Hogwarts.

The meeting with Madam Bones wasn't the only thing on Harry's mind. It was Snape too, for despite the latest purge of Extendable Ears they were still picking up on conversations they were not supposed to be privy to. There was another Order meeting set for the following night, larger than the small gatherings that frequently got Harry and the others kicked out of the kitchen at a moment's notice.

Snape's name had been mentioned more than once, in snippets of overheard on the Extendable Ears. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that his Potions Professor would be in attendance at the upcoming Order meeting. But no one had mentioned this to him, and certainly others would have given him forewarning if there was any possibility that they might run into one another.

The possibility of that happening didn't exactly leave Harry with a good feeling, regardless of the fact it was inevitable once he returned to Hogwarts. It didn't matter that Snape was the one who had freed him, that he had risked his life by suggesting that Voldemort let him go free rather than keeping him imprisoned. Snape had been there in the background, watching on while Harry was tortured and interrogated - and he had done nothing to stop it.

There was something else on Harry's mind too, the hooded Death Eater who had tortured him in the bedroom at Malfoy Manor. They had done so at Voldemort's prompting, to prove their loyalty to the Death Eater cause…Harry had his suspicions as to who that person was.

He managed to sleep for some time, but when he did his rest was disturbed by a lingering sense of dread, one that manifested itself in strange dreams. He dreamed it was not Mr Weasley who joined him at the Ministry, but Lucius Malfoy. Sitting beside him Malfoy was whispering instructions in his ear, telling him what to say.

Malfoy's wand was pointed at Harry beneath the table, and any time he slipped up or fumbled over his words Malfoy crucioed him. Except no one noticed, and all the while Malfoy stayed by his side, making sure he played along...

It was a cramp in his lower leg that finally roused him, a cramp he had mistaken for part of the dream. Wincing in pain he fumbled through the sheets to clutch at the seized muscle, holding it tight to relieve the pain before tentatively massaging it away just like Oliver Woof had taught him to in First Year.

The pain began to fade away, leaving his heart racing. Those first few weeks after it all happened he'd had muscle cramps, and there'd been no doubt in his mind that they were a lingering effect of the Cruciatus. The pain was so eerily similar even though it was a mere fragment of how that curse truly felt.

With the cramp relieved he took a deep breath to steady himself, feeling a cold sweat that had settled all over him. He looked around at Ron in the other bed nearby, glad that he was still snoring on, unaware. A few nights ago he'd woken from a nightmare and sat bolt upright in bed, breathing so hard he had woken Ron.

_'I'm afraid there's been a mistake, Mr Potter,' Lucius Malfoy said smoothly, politely gesturing for Harry to follow him down the long, white gravel driveway. 'You'll have to come back with me.'_

_And Harry obeyed...he followed Malfoy down that drive way, willingly walking back into his own hell. He knew what was going to happen to him, Malfoy was telling him every detail - and still he went willingly._

It had taken far too long to convince Ron that he was alright, his friend overly worried and insistent that they wake his mum, but to what end? It was simply easier that any bad dreams Harry endured, occasional though they were, simply did not wake anyone else. Tonight was another reminder that he needed to start working on learning the Silencing charm...he had only a few weeks left until his return to Hogwarts, he couldn't go waking his dorm mates every night.

Dread swirled deep in his belly, and he felt positively sick the more he thought about the dream, of what it would be like giving his statement while sitting right next to the wizard who had tortured him.

 _No_ , he corrected himself. _One of the wizards who had tortured him._

He couldn't stand that his head seemed to be fixated on Malfoy, that for some reason he was unable to let go of what that bastard had done to him. But Carrow had tortured him too, as had Voldemort, and then that masked Death Eater. Other Death Eaters had laughed and cheered, they had all enjoyed and revelled in what was done to him...but it was on Malfoy his mind had dwelled most.

Not caring to ask why Harry gave his lower leg another rub and then carefully got out of bed, and when he stood up the tender muscle began to ease. It felt good to stretch and bear some weight on his leg, and now that he was no longer hunched over he could breath more freely. His stomach began to settle. In fact...he was kind of hungry.

Taking care he made his way through the silent house, wary of encountering Kreacher who was known to prowl at night. In the kitchen he lit a few candles and turned to the cold pantry in search of something to eat. Opening the door he enjoyed the waft of cold air from the cooling charm, but he stared blankly inside. There was plenty of food, they were never short – yet the plate of left over roast meat and vegetables felt like too much effort.

As his stomach clenched in discomfort Harry's mind slipped back to Malfoy Manor, remembering how he hadn't eaten in more than a day – yet he didn't recall feeling hungry. With a great sigh he tried to stop thinking about that, annoyed with how much his mind kept going back there.

It was all coming back now, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. The thoughts were intrusive, coming up at random points throughout the day and distracting him. He found himself often staring into space, dwelling on the memories and forgetting what he had been doing before.

Above him he heard footsteps on the stairs, so when the kitchen door opened he was not alarmed. It was both an annoyance and relief to be disturbed from his thoughts.

'You know, if you want something to eat it's not going to jump out at you.'

Harry managed a smile, glancing at Mr Weasley. 'You don't know that,' he said, looking back into the cold pantry. 'Have some faith.'

Bolstered into action he took out the enormous plate of left over roast dinner, adding some to a bowl and offering it to Mr Weasley also, who took him up on it.

'Can't sleep?' Harry asked, adding some gravy and then heating each of the bowls.

'Oh I've been sleeping a little too soundly,' Mr Weasley worried, urgently rummaging through a stack of newspapers in the cabinet. 'I dreamed that Perkins said I looked like a boiled potato, and I was so insulted I woke up. Then I realised I made a mistake in yesterday's crossword…' he trailed off as he found the right newspaper and hurriedly flicked through to the crossword. His eyes lit up. 'Ah! Tater, not tuber…that's why I couldn't crack seven down.'

'The crossword woke you up?' Harry questioned with a bemused smile. He passed Mr Weasley his plate and they sat down together.

'It did,' he admitted in embarrassment. 'Thank you, Harry. I do enjoy a midnight snack every now and then. So, you can't sleep either huh?'

'Just hungry,' he answered smoothly.

There was a comfortable silence as they ate, Mr Weasley's eyes still scanning the crossword as he checked his work again. As he ate Harry tried not to look at the other newspapers that were stacked on the kitchen table, but the moving pictures kept catching his eye.

He hadn't been reading the Daily Prophet so frequently since his arrival at Grimmauld Place, which had to be a good thing. There was never anything worth reading that didn't make his blood boil.

Though it was a shame they had to leave their home, Harry was glad that the Weasleys were there at Grimmauld Place, for he had missed them, especially after being with them so briefly after the end of last term. He knew his summer would have been very different had Dumbledore permitted him to stay longer.

Still bitter that he hadn't been allowed to stay longer at the Burrow Harry started thinking about Mr Weasley, remembering the night he returned. Like with everything else he had consciously stopped thinking about it, not even permitting himself to dwell on the good he had experienced in the aftermath. There was no telling for sure what he might have said or done if Mr Weasley hadn't immediately been at his side.

Mr Weasley was the one who had protected him from Barty Crouch Junior, the first person who had made him feel safe again, even getting him all the way to Dumbledore's office. These actions, no matter how hard Harry tried not to think about them, were things he would never allow himself to forget or be ungrateful for. He was glad it was Mr Weasley escorting him to the meeting with Bones, that he would be by Harry's side for every moment…but that didn't mean he had no doubts.

'Mr Weasley, don't you think saying anything in front of Umbridge is just going to make it worse?'

A little surprised by the sudden question, Mr Weasley looked up from the crossword. He seemed to consider Harry's question for a few moments, and then he closed the newspaper and set it aside.

'I think you're right, Harry,' he said wearily, rubbing the side of his nose. 'It will aggravate Fudge. No doubt it will make the gossip worse if the Prophet were to get wind.'

Harry gave an incredulous laugh, having hoped for words of reassurance. 'If there was ever a time to lie to me…'

Mr Weasley waved him down. 'I won't lie to you.' He gave a great sigh before he continued speaking again, looking Harry in the eye. 'It will make things harder in the short term. But you know what happened, and you must tell the world. Even if they don't believe you.'

'And when they call me a liar? When they…' he trailed off awkwardly, feeling that _when they ruin my life_ was probably a little dramatic. 'What do I do?'

'Stick to the truth, no matter the cost,' Mr Weasley said vehemently. He tapped his hand on the table for emphasis. 'You Know Who won't stay hidden forever, and when he reveals himself everyone will know you told the truth. It might make you miserable for a while, but I don't believe that you will ever regret telling the truth.'

Understanding, Harry lowered his head and looked into his bowl, trying to think. He wouldn't really regret doing this…even if it made him miserable. Those words were hardly comforting, and definitely did not make facing tomorrow any easier.

Already he could feel his heart beat quickening as nerves set in, his mind taking him to wild thoughts of what might happen. What if they pulled the rug out from under him again? What if Fudge pulled something like forcing them to change the time or venue…what if Lucius Malfoy really did show up? That wasn't so much of a stretch of the imagination, he was after all very friendly with Fudge, and had his hands in all sorts of Ministry affairs.

Getting his mind away from that, Harry turned his nerves to something else that had been weighing on him. 'I'm glad you're coming tomorrow. But I don't want you to get in trouble with the Ministry. You could lose your job.'

'Don't you worry about me losing my job,' Mr Weasley said, not dismissively. 'Don't worry about that for a moment.'

'But it could happen, right?'

'I suppose it could, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. I could not live with myself I encouraged you to speak out but was not willing to stand by your side while you did it. Perhaps I will make a few enemies for myself, but I'm not worried,' he said confidently. 'I will still have plenty more friends than enemies.'

There was a few moments of silence, and though any other time it would have been a comfortable silence, tonight it was not. While Mr Weasley returned his attention to the crossword Harry sat in thought, summoning up he nerve to ask his next question.

'Is Snape coming here for the Order meeting?'

Mr Weasley looked up at him again, his lined brow furrowing as he looked Harry in the eye. 'Order meeting?'

Harry held his gaze, unashamed of his eavesdropping. 'The one we're not supposed to know about. Is Snape coming?'

Looking exasperated with the lot of them, Mr Weasley gave a short sigh as he put the newspaper down again. 'Yes, he is. It was our intention that his presence here would go unnoticed by you.'

'Well, that's the thing,' Harry began hesitantly, still half unsure that he really wanted this. 'I was thinking it's about time I talked to him. Clear the air…'

Mr Weasley grimaced, but he seemed to understand. 'We were unsure how to bring up the subject with you,' he admitted. 'But you'll find the Order, and Professor Snape, agree. When you go back to Hogwarts he'll resume being your teacher.'

'Yes,' Harry murmured softly. Teacher…not captor.

He dreaded the thought of facing Snape in any kind of capacity, he hadn't even laid eyes on him since the Leaving Feast. Yet if he didn't do this soon he would make it that much harder for himself when he returned to school.

'So, can I see him then? Sooner rather than later,' he added.

'Oh?'

'I'm sick of having things to dread. Would be nice if I could just start looking forward to going back to Hogwarts.'

'You're looking forward to going back?'

Harry nodded, thinking about it as he continued eating. He clearly recalled the morning after his return, how peaceful it felt at Cedric's memorial. The whole school felt like one, united in grief…there was a sense of comradeship amongst all of them he didn't ever recall feeling so strongly. There was no doubt he was eager to return to that feeling, to shut himself off from the Ministry and just focus on being at school, surrounded by people who didn't look at him like a leper.

'I'm glad to hear it. It's quite the relief,' Mr Weasley added. 'We thought you might not want to go.'

'It's been good here,' he said honestly, not wanting anyone to think he hadn't enjoyed being at Grimmauld Place. 'Being with you guys, with Sirius and the Order. But it would be nice to get back to something normal. Even if nothing really is normal.'

'A very wise attitude, indeed. I will speak to Professor Snape and make arrangements for the two of you to meet.'

'Thank you.'

Harry finished eating and then bade Mr Weasley goodnight, but he didn't return to bed. Instead he went all the way up to the top floor, peering at Sirius's old bedroom and wondering if he dared take a peek inside. But he resisted, getting the feeling that Sirius wanted to show him around himself. In the master bedroom he found Buckbeak sleeping soundly on the old four poster bed.

Careful not to wake the Hippogriff he crept across the room to the door that was always left open for fresh air, and he settled himself outside for the rest of the night. The night time weather was comfortable, allowing him to linger there for the rest of the night until the sun began to rise. It was a little after six thirty in the morning when he heard the door opening in the bedroom, Sirius greeting Buckbeak with a little morning snack and a bucket of fresh water.

A few minutes later Sirius joined him outside. 'It's time to decide.'

'Decide what?' Harry asked when Sirius didn't continue. He glanced up, seeing that he was holding a mug of coffee.

'Coffee, or a few hours of sleep? I'd suggest the sleep.'

Harry shook his head and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee, made just the way he liked it. 'Thanks, but I can't go back to sleep.'

'Molly put some clothes out, by the way. We thought you should wear short sleeves this time.'

'Right,' Harry murmured, looking down at his left arm. The two scars had finally begun to fade, but they were still blatantly visible on his skin, as was the small scar on his cheek. 'Might as well show them the proof.'

He was grateful that Sirius didn't linger, that he could be left alone with his thoughts for the rest of the morning. It would be a while before he had to go downstairs and get ready, and until then Harry wanted only to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!


	25. Chapter 25 - The Ministry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 25 - The Ministry

Just as they had with his hearing, Harry and Mr Weasley travelled to the Ministry on the underground. They left Grimmauld Place shortly after eleven o'clock, joining shoppers and the occasional city worker commuting between appointments, and they arrived in the Atrium with time to spare.

The timing of their meeting was by design, ensuring they would be in the right department before the Atrium became too crowded with people going to lunch. Already there were witches and wizards wandering about getting an early start, but compared to the morning they arrived for his hearing the place was far less crowded.

As he walked by Mr Weasley's side Harry kept his head down, focused only on where he was going. He could see people looking at him curiously, one wizard even stopping in his tracks to stare, but Harry paid them no attention. His mind was focused solely on this meeting, on keeping himself calm and his thoughts collected.

Like last week they took an elevator to Level Two, but upon arrival instead of turning right they went left, going through one of the many doors that awaited them. This office seemed more reserved than the Auror office, at odds with their lively talk and chatter. The department appeared not to make use of open cubicles, but was instead divided among private offices and meeting rooms. Ahead of them three people emerged from a room talking amongst themselves, but they set off down the hall in the opposite direction.

Knowing where they were going Mr Weasley led him through the twisting corridors, and then they passed through a set of double doors into a different area. It was generally alike in appearance, but they went no further than the reception desk where a young wizard lurched up out of his chair upon their arrival.

'Elias,' Mr Weasley said brightly. 'How's your mum? Is she well yet?'

'Hi, Mr Weasley,' Elias stammered, his eyes flicking over to Harry for a moment. 'She's getting there. The pox cleared up, but she's still breathing fire when she coughs.'

'Send her my best, won't you?' Mr Weasley said grimly.

Elias nodded, still looking at Harry more than was polite. But he collected himself and looked at a large open diary on the desk. 'You're here to see Madam Bones, right? There's been a request. Madam Marchbanks? She's quite insistent she join you.'

'Marchbanks?' Mr Weasley questioned in surprise, though he didn't sound perturbed. He gave Harry an approving nod that suggested this change of plan was a good thing. 'Well I suppose if she'd like to join us that would be alright.'

'You'll be in here,' Elias continued, showing them into a meeting room. 'Amelia requested this one personally, you'll have complete privacy.'

The room was nondescript, featuring only a large conference table and chairs, and a nearby bureau from which Elias retrieved a jug of water and some glasses. It all felt rather informal, nothing at all like the courtroom he had attended just a few days ago, and at first this frustrated Harry. It was like they weren't taking this seriously, which he knew the majority of the Ministry was not. But he quickly decided he was glad for the lack of fuss, feeling like this was less intimidating.

'They'll be along shortly. Can I get you anything? Tea or coffee?'

Mr Weasley politely declined, and when they were alone he ushered Harry to one of the two chairs, facing five others on the opposite side. Promptly pouring out two glasses of water he set one down in front of Harry, and though he tried to thank him he found his voice had suddenly vanished, nerves beginning to set in.

Trying to distract himself he went to take a drink of water, but stopped himself before he even picked up the glass - he had no idea what that water might contain, and he wouldn't put it past Fudge to sabotage this meeting. At this thought Harry knew he was being paranoid, but he still did not drink it.

'Marchbanks is an old friend of Dumbledore's, and a member of the Wizengamot,' Mr Weasley quietly explained. 'She's a very shrewd witch. If it looks like she's sleeping, that's exactly what she wants you to think. Trust me, she is very much awake.'

They sat in silence and waited, Harry watching the minute hand on his watch creeping closer and closer to noon. He had to stifle a yawn from lack of sleep, and not for the first time he wished this whole thing would just be over with. It was necessary to remind himself that he could not rush, that he had to go slowly and take his time, or else he might miss things or give the wrong impression.

At precisely noon the door opened, and he looked around to see people filing into the room. Following Mr Weasley's lead he got to his feet and faced them. Madam Bones entered first, and Harry found she looked remarkably different without her Wizengamot robes and monocle.

'Mr Potter,' she said politely, approaching him first and extending her hand. 'Thank you for coming in today.'

'Nice to meet you,' he said quietly, managing to find his voice as he shook her hand.

Madam Bones had already turned to Mr Weasley, greeting him and shaking his hand, while behind her entered two more witches. The first had to be Madam Marchbanks, the elderly witch he recognised from his hearing as the one who had waved at Dumbledore. She seemed small and frail, her face so lined it looked as though it were draped in cob webs. Behind her was Dolores Umbridge in her garish pink robes.

Much to Harry's relief Umbridge ignored him all together, heading straight for her chair at the other side of the table. Marchbanks on the other hand gave Harry a friendly smile and nodded her head, but she didn't stop either. The next to enter were Kingsley and a tawny haired wizard who must be Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror Department. Wearing wire-rimmed glasses that weren't all too different from Harry's he walked with a pronounced limp, he merely glanced at Harry with a short nod of acknowledgement and then made his way around the table.

Everyone was promptly taking their seats, Kingsley hastening to pull out the chair for Madam Marchbanks. The moment she sat down the chair transformed into a padded high backed wing chair, one she sank into with a small sight of contentment. Sitting at the opposite end of the table Umbridge glanced at her rather unhappily, but busied herself with setting out a scroll of parchment, quill and ink.

Madam Bones sat in the centre of the five chairs, Scrimgeour sitting to her right. As everyone got settled Harry breathed a mental sigh of relief that other than Marchbanks, there had been no surprises, no last minute attempt to intimidate him into backing out. He glanced at Mr Weasley beside him, equally relieved to see that he too seemed calm and happy with the beginning of the meeting.

'Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. I am Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' she started, proceeding to introduce the others at the table. When she first spoke a typewriter appeared in the far corner of the room and began typing, charmed to take a transcript of the meeting. 'The date today is Friday the twentieth of August, nineteen ninety five.'

Her demeanour was very business like. Similar to Professor McGonagall she seemed very straight to the point, and didn't waste time with small talk or niceties, which Harry appreciated.

'Harry, would you please state your full name and date of birth for the transcript.'

Conscious that now every word he said was on a transcript, he answered. 'Harry James Potter. Thirty first of July, nineteen eighty.'

'And Mr Weasley.'

'Arthur Septimus Weasley. Sixth of February, nineteen fifty.'

'Thank you,' Madam Bones said politely. 'Harry, if you'd prefer the company of your Muggle guardians, accommodations can be made for them to join us.'

Hiding his true reaction to that thought, Harry just shook his head. 'No, thank you.'

She gave this no little thought. 'Arthur, for the transcript what's your relationship to Harry?'

Mr Weasley seemed to sit up a little straighter. 'He's a close family friend,' he answered proudly. 'Molly and I have known Harry a number of years. He often stays with us during the summer break.'

'And Harry's staying in your home at present?'

'He's with us,' Mr Weasley answered, not exactly lying.

Satisfied that all was in order Madam Bones paused a few moments, glancing to Scrimgeour as if permitting him to ask any initial questions. Scrimgeour simply shook his head, paying attention to his scroll of parchment upon which he had begun writing notes.

Kingsley was already sitting back in his chair with arms folded, looking for all intents as though he were simply there to listen, to fill in a chair. Madam Marchbanks had already tipped her head back as if readying herself to fall asleep, while at the other end of the table Umbridge made to speak up - but Bones spoke first.

'Well Harry, Professor Dumbledore has requested that you be allowed to come down here and make a formal statement as to the events of June twenty fourth and twenty fifth. What is it you wish to say?'

Slightly put off by the way Umbridge looked at him, Harry used the nasty look on her face as encouragement. He felt well prepared for his statement, having spent days reminding himself why he had agreed to this, and remembering what Mr Weasley had told him late last night. He looked Madam Bones in the eye when he answered, speaking clearly and more confidently than he expected.

'I'm here because I want the truth to be heard. Lord Voldemort has returned, and the Ministry is ignoring it.'

There was a long pause, broken only by a few shudders of discomfort at Voldemort's name, but they were going to have to get used to hearing it.

'Harry. Do you understand that that this is an official proceeding with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?' Madam Bones asked, sounding as though she were giving him the opportunity to back out. 'Your statement will be recorded. There will be an official transcript. If you're proven to be untruthful, you could be charged with making a false statement to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The penalty is a fine of fifty galleons.'

'I understand.'

'Is it your intention to tell the truth today?' she asked, giving him one last opportunity.

'Yes.'

Madam Bones nodded, peering at him with polite but curious interest. 'Well then by all means. Please begin however you wish.'

Not unlike the way he had that night with Dumbledore and Sirius, he simply drew a breath and began, starting with the Portkey in the maze. Mentally he was going through the motions, doing everything he could to detach himself from the images in his head so he could simply recite it verbally.

Hiding nothing, he admitted that he convinced Cedric he deserved to win outright, and that it was his suggestion they at least share the win for Hogwarts. It took everything he had to speak calmly and evenly as he continued, forcing himself to look Madam Bones in the eye when he described how Cedric was murdered.

Her expression was very difficult to read, and he could tell if he was managing to convince her of his truthfulness. As this thought occurred he reminded himself that it wasn't about convincing anyone, but rather getting the truth on record. That was his only purpose today, to get the truth recorded.

' _Hem, hem_ ,' Umbridge began, giving a cough to interrupt him.

Harry trailed off, noting he wasn't the only one who seemed surprised by the interruption. Seated beside her Scrimgeour was looking at Umbridge in annoyance, while Madam Bones managed to look a little more polite.

Umbridge gave Harry a sickly sweet smile. 'Do you mean to tell me, Mr Potter, that a man who has been dead for well over a decade, simply came back to life to murder your friend?'

By a miracle, Harry's temper did not rise, not even for a moment. 'I've already told Fudge about this. Over a year ago I told him Peter Pettigrew was alive, that he had faked his own death and framed Sirius Black. Dumbledore told Fudge the same thing. Peter Pettigrew is alive. He's a Death Eater, and he's the one who brought Voldemort back.'

Scrimgeour was looking at him thoughtfully, and then he leant towards Madam Bones and whispered something. They spoke quietly, and then she nodded her head. 'Yes, you may.'

'Mr Potter,' Scrimgeour started, speaking for the first time. His voice was short and clipped, almost impatiently so. 'I'd like to clarify something. In June you reported that He Who Must Not Be Named murdered Cedric Diggory. Now, you tell us it was Peter Pettigrew. Could you explain that for me?'

He nodded, prepared for this very question. 'Peter Pettigrew killed Cedric with Voldemort's wand, under Voldemort's orders. Voldemort is responsible for Cedric's death even though he didn't do it himself.'

There seemed to be a sense of general skepticism around the table, even from Kingsley who was merely pretending. He got the impression that they seemed to think he just had a wild imagination, but he reminded himself again that this was not about convincing them. Before they could ask any more questions he continued speaking, recounting how Pettigrew had tied him up and the potion that had been brewed.

Harry paused for a few moments, remembering vividly the sheer horror he felt when he watched Voldemort rise from that cauldron. He wanted to be able to describe it to them, to make them understand how truly terrible it had been, but he knew that words would never be able to explain it. Persevering he recounted that Voldemort had stepped out of the cauldron and taken back his wand, using the Dark Mark on Pettigrew's arm to summon the Death Eaters. But before he could go further, Umbridge interrupted again.

' _Hem, hem_. Mr Potter, I'm terribly sorry, but the potion you described simply does not exist.'

This time it was harder to keep his temper. 'Just because you've never heard of it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist.'

Pretending there had been no interruption Harry began describing the arrival of the Death Eaters, plainly admitting that they had all been wearing hoods and masks, but that Voldemort had addressed many of them by name. He had barely listed three of the names, including Lucius Malfoy, when Umbridge interrupted for a third time, speaking over top of him.

'It has not escaped the Ministry's notice, Mr Potter, that you've named only those who had been proven innocent of affiliation with Death Eaters. In fact, a number of your accused are highly regarded Ministry employees.'

'Yes.'

She blinked at him stupidly, perhaps surprised that he was standing his ground. 'It seems to me, that you have simply recited the names of those who were once associated with Death Eaters, but were proven innocent. What have you to say to that?'

'That they were there. Voldemort addressed them by name, and I saw some of their faces. They were there.'

Madam Bones intervened, raising her voice and speaking over Umbridge who had already started to argue back. 'Madam Umbridge you may ask questions at my discretion, but this is not the proceedings of an interrogation,' she said gently. 'You may register your protests at a later time. Harry, please continue.'

There was a heavy silence now, Umbridge looking at him with a most sour expression before turning it to Madam Bones. It seemed she was going to say something else, but a short throat clearing from Scrimgeour made her stop. Mr Weasley was also intervening, and beneath the table he touched his hand to Harry's elbow, a gentle reminder to keep control.

'Potter, for the record,' Scrimgeour prompted, still sounding impatient. 'Repeat the names of the people there, and describe their interactions with He Who Must Not Be Named.'

Relieved to continue, Harry took a moment to remember where he was, and he recited the names of those who had been present. 'I counted about thirty of them, but he only addressed a few by name, and I only saw a few faces. Lucius Malfoy was there. So was Macnair, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Carrow and Peter Pettigrew.'

'Which Carrow?'

Harry paused. 'I didn't know there was more than one.'

'Brother and sister.'

'The brother.'

'How do you know?' Scrimgeour pressed. 'Did you see their face?'

'Yes. He and Malfoy were the ones who tortured me.' Pausing for another question that didn't come, Harry continued. 'Those were the names I heard. I saw plenty of other faces, but I don't know their names.'

'Would you be able to identify them from a photograph?'

'Yes.'

' _Hem, hem_.'

'Keep going,' Madam Bones quickly said, talking over Umbridge.

Grateful for her intervention, Harry did so. For a time he was able to speak at length, talking about how Voldemort had welcomed the Death Eaters back to his side and addressed many of them personally, addressing the gaps in the circle and speaking proudly of those who had gone to Azkaban for him. Somehow he recounted his brief duel with Voldemort, keeping the description of Priori Incantatem as accurate yet simplified as possible.

When he described the echoes of his parents and Cedric emerging from Voldemort's wand he was certain he had lost them now, that even though he was describing a recognised phenomenon they seemed skeptical, including Madam Bones. Conscious of this he skipped over the things the echoes had said to him, unwilling to describe the brief comfort it had given him to see his parents.

Instead he went straight to the moment he ran for it, knocking aside shocked Death Eaters as he bolted for the Cup. Now he had their rapt attention again. Even Umbridge was staring at her parchment as droplets of ink fell from the tip of her quill, listening intently. He recounted how close he had come, that it was only a split second that stood between him being recaptured and free.

In his mind's eye he recalled these moments in great detail, his sheer desperation, the way he kept lunging for his wand even though it was useless. He had refused to give up even as hopelessness closed in on him. But these details he kept largely to himself, unable to say them out loud. If he was forced to recount the moment he realised his failure and that he was going to die, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together as he currently was.

'What happened next?' Madam Bones prompted.

Harry blinked. 'They surrounded me again. I kept trying to get to the Cup, but they kept pushing it away.'

'And then? Madam Bones prompted a second time. 'What happened? Did they say anything? Do anything?'

_Courageous. A Gryffindor, of course._

'Yes,' he answered, trying to separate his actual recollections from the information he was willing to share. 'Voldemort left, and the Death Eaters took me. Lucius Malloy had me.'

'Where did they take you?'

He hesitated, conscious that he was now getting into the part of the story that Fudge had been particularly resistant to. With a moment to collect his thoughts he again reminded himself that this was not about convincing them, that it didn't really matter if Madam Bones and Scrimgeour believed him. This was about getting the truth on record.

'Malfoy Manor.'


	26. Chapter 26 - Testimony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 26 - Testimony

'What happened next?' Madam Bones prompted.

Harry blinked. 'They surrounded me again. I kept trying to get to the Cup, but they kept pushing it away.'

'And then? Madam Bones prompted a second time. 'What happened? Did they say anything? Do anything?'

_Courageous. A Gryffindor, of course._

'Yes,' he answered, trying to separate his actual recollections from the information he was willing to share. 'Voldemort left, and the Death Eaters took me. Lucius Malloy had me.'

'Where did they take you?'

He hesitated, conscious that he was now getting into the part of the story that Fudge had been particularly resistant to. With a moment to collect his thoughts he again reminded himself that this was not about convincing them, that it didn't really matter if Madam Bones and Scrimgeour believed him. This was about getting the truth on record.

'Malfoy Manor.'

This statement aroused the expected reactions. While Umbridge scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him Madam Bones shifted uncomfortably, probably having hoped that this wasn't where his story was going. On the other hand Kingsley and Scrimgeour had noticeably subdued reactions, as though they heard this kind of thing about public figures every day.

'How do you know that's where they took you?'

'Malfoy was acting like he was in charge. He was telling people what to do, giving orders. And later Voldemort himself told me where I was.'

'Can you describe it?'

It made his stomach squirm to even think about it, but Harry described the aspects of the Manor he had seen. As he spoke images of the place flashed in his mind's eye, reminding him again and again.

Scrimgeour had leant close to Madam Bones again, whispering something to her. She seemed mildly exasperated, and nodded her head. 'Yes, Rufus. By all means, go ahead,' she murmured softly.

'Odd thing to notice,' Scrimgeour commented lightly, leaning back in his chair and tapping his quill against the parchment. 'Colour of the gravel.'

Harry looked at the parchment, seeing that despite Scrimgeour's note taking the parchment was empty. Invisible ink.

'When we were walking down the drive, Malfoy made me look down.'

'Then how did you see the house you described?'

Annoyed, he kept his temper. 'Because before I was looking down, I was looking up.'

Scrimgeour ignored his annoyed tone of voice. 'You said they put you in a cellar?'

'At first, yes.'

'Malfoy Manor is quite an old estate. It's well known to my department.'

'I'm sure it is.'

'Thing is Mr Potter, there is no cellar at Malfoy Manor. Is it possible you're mistaken?'

'I'm sure he doesn't show it to people like you.'

'So you're not mistaken?'

'No.'

At the other end of the table Umbridge was madly scribbling notes, her cheeks flushed red. It looked like she was about to burst, like it took everything she had to keep quiet. What little he knew of this awful woman came to mind, remembering Tonks's comment that Umbridge was the reason people like Lupin couldn't find work. On the inside he took a deep breath and looked away from her, choosing to relish the fact that he'd got her so worked up.

Madam Bones politely cleared her throat, turning to Scrimgeour beside her. 'Shall he continue?'

Scrimgeour gestured to Harry, giving him the floor once again. With his hands clenched in his lap Harry continued his recount, covering what happened the next morning when Voldemort arrived and first began to torture him. He kept his description as simple as possible, trying not to go into too much detail until they prompted him for more.

'After the first time they came back a few hours later, and it started again. This time Voldemort made me drink some water, and told me if I cooperated things would get better for me.'

'What was in the water?' Scrimgeour enquired, noting this down.

'Nothing. It was just water.'

'Why was You Know Who torturing you?' Bones asked delicately. 'Was it an interrogation?'

'Yes.'

'About what? What were the questions he asked?'

Harry paused, thinking before he answered. 'I'd rather not say.'

'Anything you can tell us would be most helpful.'

At this he turned to Mr Weasley, who immediately stepped in. 'Harry would rather not go into detail.'

Looking only slightly perturbed, Bones prompted him to continue. But she stopped him again when he moved on to Malfoy and Carrow. 'As you're making explicit accusations against members of the Wizarding community, I'm afraid we must implore you to give as much detail as you can give. Things they said to you. Curses used, threats they made.'

Harry hadn't quite prepared himself for that, having expected he could just gloss over it with a brief description. Now when he spoke he trained his eyes on the centre of the table, unable to look at anyone…for as much as Voldemort's torture had been awful, it was Lucius Malfoy who haunted him. Trying to keep his jumbled thoughts in order he began to recount in as much detail as he could bear.

'Malfoy tried to tell me he didn't like torturing people, and I started to talk back to him. Then he told me that it was his job to…' he began to trail off, his voice tightening until he was forced to clear his throat. 'His job to make sure I was broken. That he would keep going until there was no _me_ left and I would just obey.'

'Were those his exact words?'

'Pretty much,' he nodded, still looking at the table. 'I just kept telling him that he didn't have to do it. But it didn't make any difference. He kept doing it.'

Beneath the table he felt Mr Weasley's hand on his elbow, a soft pat reminding him to take a breath, to pause if he needed to.

'He started torturing me with the Cruciatus Curse. He let Carrow do it too. Carrow was impatient, and he was laughing when he did it. I think Malfoy had to make him stop, because when I came around they were arguing.'

'How many times did they do this?'

'Three times,' he answered, and he continued quickly. 'It felt like a lot more than that. They would start slowly and let it get worse, so it would last longer.'

Daring it, Harry glanced up and looked up, relieved to see three expressions of mixed compassion and scrutiny, with only Umbridge looking skeptical. Marchbanks's head was tipped forward onto her chest, her wrinkled eyes closed, but Harry knew she was wide awake. But what startled him was Mr Weasley, who sat rather tense and stiff in his chair, and it was only now that Harry realised that this was Mr Weasley's first time hearing the details. Had Dumbledore or Sirius not warned him about what Harry would say?

'Did anything else happen?' Bones enquired. 'With Malfoy and Carrow.'

'Yes. After a while, Mal-'

' _Hem, hem!_ ' Umbridge began, and this time her cough was not polite. 'Madam Bones, I must register my protest. This statement Mr Potter is making is highly slanderous against reputable wizards who have already proven their innocence.'

'I suppose the amount of gold Malfoy gives to Fudge has nothing to do with why you're defending him,' Harry exclaimed angrily, nearly rising in his chair.

'Without a shred of evidence Potter is tarnishing the name of reputable wizards because Dumbledore instructed him to.'

'Fudge is right in Malfoy's pocket!'

There was another awkward silence now, everyone on edge except Marchbanks who appeared to still be sleeping. Harry was silently fuming, his hands clenched into fists that were shaking in his lap - his explanation of the torture Malfoy and Carrow had inflicted had brought him to the edge of his control, and then Umbridge had pushed him right over the edge.

Everyone was waiting for him to speak again, and though he opened his mouth he couldn't find the words, momentarily struck dumb as he tried to remember what he had been up to. Beside him Mr Weasley shifted in his chair and then politely cleared his throat.

'Madam Bones, might we please request a short break.'

'No,' Harry said quickly, suddenly remembering what had come next. His bout of anger had reminded him of the same emotion he felt back then, this being the very thing that spurred on what happened next. 'It's fine.'

'Then by all means, continue,' Madam Bones encouraged.

'After they had tortured me, Malfoy made me get up again,' Harry began to recite, his voice now more confident. 'He showed me something that belonged to my godfather, Sirius Black.'

'Sirius Black, who you claim is innocent?' Madam Bones enquired.

'He is innocent.'

Madam Bones didn't hide her skepticism, but she permitted him to continue.

'Malfoy told me he knew where Sirius was, and that he would bring him there to kill him. That after him the Weasley's would be next.' Harry paused now. 'I didn't plan it or anything, but I disarmed Malfoy and got his wand. I fought back.'

Bones and Scrimgeour exchanged a glance, and Harry could tell they were skeptical. 'And how do you suppose you managed that?' she asked, not impolitely. 'You didn't have a wand. Are you skilled at wandless magic?

'It was a fluke,' he explained, purposefully not divulging what he had learned to do since then. 'Professor Dumbledore said that sometimes people can do wandless magic when they're desperate, which I was. I was panicking. I barely managed to do anything with the wand anyway.'

Bones seemed to accept his explanation, but Umbridge wasn't having it. 'Utterly ridiculous,' she murmured, writing something down before raising her head and looking at him. 'That you expect us to believe a child is capable of-'

'Oh Dolores, do let the boy speak,' Marchbanks snapped, opening her eyes. 'Were it not for your interruptions we'd all be at lunch by now.'

Umbridge's expression became even more sour, if that were even possible, but she shut up and turned back to her parchment, scribbling something else down in great haste. Getting the feeling that Marchbanks had just made quite an enemy for herself, Harry gave her what he hoped was an appreciative glance, and then continued.

'They were onto me pretty quickly,' he said, glossing over things he didn't let himself dwell on. 'They took me upstairs next and locked me in a different room. I think they were afraid…they didn't know what to do with me.'

Trailing off he was suddenly struck by the memory of the way his bout of euphoria turned into abject horror, realising his actions had just endangered Sirius's life. How absurd was it that they were afraid of him, while he was terrified of what could do to the people he loved.

He didn't bring up Snape at all, and instead continued onto the bedroom they took him to next, explaining the clean clothing that had been set out, the Quidditch books and magazines. Scrimgeour queried him on a few things, asking him to describe the room, what he could see out the window, and he noted Harry's answer's down in his invisible ink, keeping it private.

'A few hours later Voldemort came back. When I admitted to attacking Malfoy he told me that he forgave me. He seemed to understand,' he added awkwardly, wondering what to say next. 'He had a snake with him, Nagini.'

'A snake?' Madam Bones asked skeptically.

'Yes. He's a Parsletongue.'

'As are you, Mr Potter.'

'Yes,' he said tersely, wondering if they would hold that against him. 'He had promised that it could have me when I was dead, but since he changed his mind he promised it a muggle instead.'

This comment, made completely offhand, aroused a noticeable reaction. Scrimgeour who had been writing something down paused, his quill on the parchment. As if nothing was amiss he continued writing his note and then leant back in his chair, peering at Harry.

'Then what?'

Knowing that he was nearly done, he pushed onward. 'Another Death Eater was with him, I don't know who. He made them torture me with the Cruciatus, and then it was over.'

'How many times did this person torture you?'

Harry paused. The memories on this encounter were a little hazy on the details, and he had wondered since if he'd just been through too much to remember what happened towards the end. But the recollections he did have were clear. The Death Eater had needed encouragement to torture him. Voldemort had to goad them into it, making them do it to prove their loyalty.

'Twice, I think.' He lifted his left hand above the table, showing Bones and Scrimgeour the scars. 'They did this.'

They both looked, but only for a few moments. 'You said it was over then?' Bones confirmed.

'Yes,' he nodded. 'Someone came back for me. They walked me out of Malfoy Manor, apparated with me back to the graveyard and took me to Cedric's body. They gave me back my wand and told me to go.'

His rather bland conclusion was met with silence, particularly from Madam Bones. She looked rather disappointed now, making him wonder if she had been expecting something more exciting.

'Why is it He Who Must Not Be Named let you go?' she asked, pressing for more.

Harry paused, knowing he couldn't divulge anything to do with Snape's involvement. 'I had nothing to tell him. I think he hopes that I might learn something useful he can get from me later.'

'Something like what?' Scrimgeour asked now.

'I don't know.'

The silence resumed again, Scrimgeour and Bones both looking like they wanted to press the subject. But Harry held his ground as he waited, suspecting there would be other questions, and he breathed a mental sigh of relief. He had made it to the end…he had gotten through the entire thing without losing his temper too badly, and without letting emotion overcome him. And it was over now. It was done.

Scrimgeour was the first to speak again. 'Professor Dumbledore has made very bold accusations about Barty Crouch Junior,' he began. 'Not only that he orchestrated the whole thing, but that upon your return to Hogwarts he made a further attempt on your life.'

'Yes,' Harry confirmed. 'He was disguised as Professor Moody, and he tried to take me off on my own. I was going with him, but Mr Weasley stopped us.'

'And that was his attempt to get you alone and murder you?'

'Yes.'

Scrimgeour still seemed unsatisfied, and he shook his head to himself. 'Mr Potter, you've told us that He Who Must Not Be Named let you go free, but also that his agent at Hogwarts tried to murder you. This is quite the contradiction.'

'No,' Harry said urgently, hastening to clarify. 'Voldemort doesn't want anyone to know he's back, so he still needed to explain where I had been. He knew Crouch would try to kill me if I came back alive, so Voldemort set him up to take the fall.'

Scrimgeour wasn't convinced. 'You-Know-Who set up his own follower? The one responsible for his resurrection?'

'Doesn't it seem like something he would do?'

Still, Scrimgeour was dissatisfied. 'Surely you can understand why the Ministry is more inclined to believe that Crouch was a madman working alone.'

Harry just stared at him, still unable to believe the stupidity of that statement, especially from the Head of the Auror Department. 'Crouch was at Hogwarts the entire time,' he argued. 'If he was working alone, then who imprisoned me? Who tortured me? Who killed Cedric?'

To his disbelief Scrimgeour just shrugged his shoulders and looked back to his parchment, taping on it with the end of his quill. The whole interaction stunned Harry completely, leaving him confused for a few moments…surely the Head of the Auror Department wasn't an imbecile. Though with this Ministry he could never quite be sure.

'So, Harry,' Madam Bones said next, picking up the same thread of conversation. 'Is that your official response to the Ministry's position that Crouch was a lone madman?'

Harry nodded. 'He was not working alone.'

'What about the Ministry's position that you're being untruthful? That the very statement you've made today is untruthful.'

'I deny it,' he said hotly, taking a deep breath before continuing. 'The Ministry is ignoring the truth because it's inconvenient. Because Fudge is too afraid of having to deal with it.'

'That's a heavy accusation to make against the Minister for Magic,' Madam Bones said gently, giving him an opportunity to backtrack his words. 'That the Minister is wilfully ignoring a grave community danger.'

At this Harry took pause, recognising the importance of what he needed to say. He had to be careful - it couldn't sound like he was against Fudge, that he had a vendetta against him. 'It's hard to hear the truth sometimes. Especially about Voldemort.'

Madam Bones gave little response to this, and was now casting her eyes to the others to check they had nothing to add. She ignored Umbridge all together. 'Harry, do you have anything further you'd like to say for the record?'

Harry wracked his brain, looking for anything important he might have missed, but then he shook his head. 'No.'

'Then that concludes the interview. Thank you, Harry.'

At once the enchanted typewriter finished typing and disappeared with a soft puff of smoke, the long rolled up scroll of parchment flying over and depositing itself in front of Madam Bones. She promptly signed the bottom and then passed it to Scrimgeour. He too signed the bottom and promptly sealed it with his wand, stowing it in his briefcase.

By this time Umbridge had already collected her things and stormed out, no doubt on her way straight to Fudge's office. Madam Bones and Marchbanks departed with considerably more decorum, Harry and Mr Weasley standing up to shake Bones's hand once more before she departed.

'Mr Potter,' Scrimgeour began, approaching him while Kingsley lingered by the door waiting. He extended his hand. 'It was a pleasure to meet you.'

'Same to you,' he politely replied, shaking Scrimgeour's hand.

Scrimgeour was about to leave, he and Kingsley already walking through the door, but then he stopped abruptly. Turning back he gave Harry a long stare, holding his gaze a moment before coming back into the room.

'Can I see?' he requested, gesturing for Harry's left hand.

Though a little uncomfortable with his interest, Harry extended his left arm and allowed Scrimgeour to take it. He stole a quick glance at Kingsley, who was watching from the doorway.

Scrimgeour studied the faded scars on Harry's hand and forearm. Perhaps questioning that they were real he touched them, using his fingertips to push and pull at the surrounding skin.

'This kind of curse made the rounds a while back,' Scrimgeour said lightly, as if making polite small talk. 'Good thing you weren't too liberal with the Dittany.'

'Why's that?' Harry asked uncomfortably, taking his arm back before Scrimgeour had actually released it. He didn't like the way he was looking at the scars, or his light hearted tone.

'Perhaps you knew you'd have to show them to me one day.' Scrimgeour peered at him a moment longer, but as if he'd done nothing strange he then turned to Mr Weasley and tipped his head. 'Good day, Arthur.'

'Good day.'

Scrimgeour finally left, stepping through the door Kingsley held open for him and then striding down the corridor, close on his heels. The moment the door swung shut Harry breathed a heavy sigh of relief, feeling exhausted. Leaning against the table he folded his arms across his chest, unconsciously trying to cover the scars Scrimgeour had just scrutinised.

'That went very well, Harry. Very well indeed.'

'Doesn't feel like it,' he murmured, not quite able to meet Mr Weasley's eyes. His head was whirling. 'I don't think Bones believes me.'

'You know it's not about that,' Mr Weasley reminded him, patting him on the shoulder. 'You came here to state the truth, and you did so admirably. I'm very proud of you, Harry.'

'Thanks.'

They waited a few minutes, Mr Weasley commented it would allow Umbridge to get as far ahead of them as possible, but Harry suspected it was so they could both collect themselves before facing the rest of the world again. They'd been there for over an hour, this length of time surprising Harry rather greatly. Had it taken him that long to recount these facts to Dumbledore?

'Let's get you home then,' Mr Weasley decided, ushering him towards the door. 'I don't know about you, but I could do with a strong brew and a biscuit. Perhaps a spot of Ogden's Old, if Molly's not looking.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone - hope you all enjoyed the chapter. We'll find out more about how it really went in the next chapter, and we'll see Snape too!
> 
> I've spent the last two weeks of Christmas break writing madly, but unfortunately back to work tomorrow :-(


	27. Chapter 27 - Clearing the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 27 - Clearing the Air

When Harry and Mr Weasley made it home that afternoon Kingsley arrived at the same time, having left the Ministry on the pretence of taking a late lunch. Together they hurried downstairs into the kitchen, glad to find it was empty but for Lupin, Sirius and Mrs Weasley, all of whom made a fuss upon Harry's return. Feeling rather short tempered and tired Harry managed to avoid much of their concern, wanting only to speak with Kingsley.

'Any surprises?' Sirius asked in concern, pressing a butterbeer into Harry's hand as though that would fix everything.

'Only Griselda Marchbanks.'

A flurry of approval swept around the kitchen. 'Marchbanks?' Sirius questioned in disbelief. 'How'd you get so lucky?'

'Someone must have mentioned it to her,' smiled Mr Weasley. 'It's a good thing too, we've got a word in with her lot now.'

'How much sway has she got?' Harry enquired, taking a seat at the table.

'With the Wizengamot elders, almost as much as Dumbledore…which isn't saying much right now, but it will matter.'

'She's very kind hearted, and reasonable,' Lupin added. 'She helped me find work in the Wizengamot offices after I finished teaching at Hogwarts.'

The conversation about Marchbanks began to dissipate now, everyone following Harry's suit and sitting down at the table. Kingsley sat directly opposite him.

'How do you think that went?'

Harry gave an honest answer. 'Bones seemed disappointed. I think she was expecting something more.'

'She _was_ expecting something more,' Kingsley said approvingly. 'She's had two months of Fudge telling her what a childish attention seeker you are. She was ready for you to tell some exciting story of how you battled Death Eaters ten against one. What she wasn't expecting was, forgive me Harry, a comparatively plain story about you being interrogated and tortured, and then set free.'

'You presented well too,' Mr Weasley added, telling everyone. 'Polite, well spoken. You didn't rush.'

'What was with Scrimgeour at the end?' Harry questioned angrily, still annoyed. 'Asking about Crouch?'

To his surprise, Kingsley smiled, his reaction getting the attention of everyone in the kitchen. 'Yes, brilliant, wasn't it?' he commented slowly.

'Brilliant?'

Kingsley nodded, explaining to the room at large. 'Scrimgeour now has on written record a sensible contradiction to Fudge's narrative. How could a lone madman have imprisoned you for nearly twenty four hours, if he never set foot outside Hogwarts?'

'Fudge practically glued himself to Crouch's side that night at Hogwarts,' Mr Weasley added. 'Thinking he was Alastor of course.'

'And if it wasn't a lone madman who imprisoned you, then who did that to your arm?' Kingsley questioned at large, gesturing to Harry's scars. 'That's dark magic Harry, and Scrimgeour knows it. If it wasn't Crouch, then who?'

'So, Scrimgeour believes me?'

At this Kingsley hesitated. 'What you gave him was a sensible contradiction that suggests investigation is warranted, despite Fudge's disapproval.'

Harry nodded, but he sighed on the inside. It was exhausting trying to wrap his head around all this, to understand the Ministry and people's ulterior motives.

'Something else interesting came up too,' Kingsley announced, reaching into his robes and withdrawing a manilla folder. He set it on the table and pushed it towards the others, though he made a point of not allowing Harry to look at it.

'Scrimgeour filled me in. Harry, you mentioned You Know Who promised his snake a Muggle? Well, it just so happens a Muggle man went missing the night you came back. The husband of a squib actually, which is why he came to our attention. We thought he'd walked out on his family, but guess where he went missing?'

Harry's heart sank. 'Somewhere near Malfoy Manor?'

Kingsley nodded gravely. 'It's just another piece in the puzzle. And Scrimgeour made the connection to your story straight away.'

'So, it really went well?' he confirmed, not daring to believe it.

'Bones and Scrimgeour have already signed off the paperwork. As soon as we finish the debrief he'll appoint a team.'

'It's not enough. Fudge will make sure it gets buried.'

Shaking his head, Kingsley implored him to understand. 'I told you, not even Dumbledore can bury an Auror investigation. I'm not saying that anything we do will make much of a difference, but it-'

'Gives us credibility,' Harry interjected, knowing what Kingsley would say.

'And, it might change a few minds. Might put a few people on guard. That's only a good thing.'

Feeling somewhat better about it all Harry retreated upstairs, completely spent. He had hoped to get a few hours of sleep before dinner, but as expected Ron and Hermione had been waiting on his return, and after recounting as much as he could he put his foot down, insisting he needed to get some sleep.

He collapsed onto his bed, blessedly feeling himself become gradually swept away into sleep. Why was it that sleeping in the afternoon was always so easier than at night?

As he rested he dreamed only a little, his mind lingering in long dark corridors that had no end in sight. In that dream he was normally wandering about aimlessly, turning corridors and trying locked doors, no doubt a reflection of how trapped he felt even when free. But walking down that single corridor had felt rather peaceful, and when Ron woke him he felt refreshed and well rested. The dreams quickly receded from his mind, gone before he could really think about them.

It was almost dark when Ron woke him, which surprised him as they tended to eat dinner early at Grimmauld Place. When they went downstairs they were not surprised that Mrs Weasley hurriedly ushered them into the drawing room on the first floor, finally admitting there was an Order meeting on that night. Plates of food were floating in the air behind her, and she directed them over to the coffee table where they would be eating.

'What's the meeting about?' Harry enquired, a bold question given they were never told a thing.

'Nothing to worry about. Would you set out some glasses please, and Ginny dear fetch me that jug from the cabinet.'

'Just means they're talking _about_ you, not to you,' Ron said loudly.

'Ronald Bilius Weasley, unless you're offering to clean up after dinner I do not want to hear a word!'

Sufficiently scolded but having said his piece, Ron resumed setting out the cutlery. Harry gave him a grateful smile from behind Mrs Weasley's back, and then pressed on.

'Is Snape here?'

She was unhappy with his inquisitive questions, but this one she seemed to understand. 'Yes, he's here.'

'I want to see him, please. Mr Weasley said he'd organise it.'

Hesitating, she wouldn't commit to an answer. 'He might not be able to stay.' She softened a little, seeing that he was going to persist on the subject. 'I'll ask.'

Not liking her refusal to commit, Harry was determined he wouldn't let Snape get out of there without seeing him. He joined the others who were already tucking in to their meal of left over roast dinner, gravy dripping down George's chin as he slipped unwanted carrots onto Fred's plate and exchanged them for more peas.

'What d'you want to see that greasy twat for anyway,' Fred questioned. 'Unless it's to do us all a favour and give him some shampoo.'

Hoping they would indulge in some Snape bashing, Harry answered. 'We have to clear the air. He was there. He saw a lot of things, he…'

Harry trailed off, having been about to say _he did a lot of things_. But he had no proof that Snape really did anything to him, only suspicions. Whatever was about to come out he just wanted to get it over with, and then start looking forward to going back to Hogwarts.

As they started to eat conversation thankfully veered towards their next year of school, wondering who in their year had been made Prefect, and when they would finally get their book lists. Harry was of course hoping their lists would come soon, keen to get out of Grimmauld Place again and visit Diagon Alley. But then again, maybe that wouldn't be as appealing as it sounded. With the late booklists it was sure to be crowded with people making last minute purchases. Did he really want to go if it risked putting a spotlight on himself? Would it even be safe?

After dinner Harry, Ron and Hermione ventured downstairs, but having already established that they couldn't eavesdrop on the meeting they didn't bother going further than halfway on the stairs where they settled in. Harry was determined that Snape wouldn't leave until they had spoken, even if he had to sit there all night. They had been enjoying a relatively silent game of Old Hag, speaking in low whispers to avoid waking Mrs Black's portrait.

'You never get spots,' Ron complained in a low whisper, grimacing as he touched a new one on his chin.

'I do, they just don't come out red,' Harry whispered back, discarding a few cards. 'Stop picking it.'

'It's not fair.'

'I got tortured. I deserve clear skin.'

Ron and Hermione both sighed, looking at each other in exasperation. 'Fine, but that's the last time you're allowed to use that.'

'Use what?'

'That!' Ron exclaimed in a loud whisper, clearing his throat and then pulling a face as he began to imitate Harry. 'I got tortured - I need the last piece of pudding.'

Hermione was stifling laughter behind her hand, and Harry hit both of them across the legs, he too laughing. 'I don't sound like that.'

'Well, from now on you're only allowed to use that once a month.'

'And you can't use it at all to make me do your homework,' Hermione warned, still smiling.

Being good natured about it, Harry just nodded, finding that it was easier to joke about what had happened. 'You can't stop me using it for homework. I know how to make you think I'm pathetic.'

'It won't work on me this year.'

Harry glanced at Ron, both of them grinning. 'It will. I know you.'

Hermione was still denying it when the kitchen door opened downstairs, and immediately they fell into silence. This was the third Order meeting Harry had been around for, and the familiar murmur of whispers and footsteps began to rise as members ascended from the basement.

Most of the people who filled the ground floor hallway were strangers to Harry, but he recognised many of them from the last meetings. McGonagall was there too, and she gave them all a friendly smile and nod as she passed them by, a nice change from her normally stern nature. Most people seemed perturbed to find the three teens sitting on the stairs plain as day, particularly Harry Potter, but he paid them no attention.

As if the hairs on the back of his neck had warned him who was coming he saw Snape's unmistakable silhouette in the shadowy hallway. The front door opened and people began to leave, but Harry did not look away. When Snape drew nearer he got to his feet and moved down to the foot of the stairs, ready to face him.

Snape stepped into the light from one of the wall mounted oil lamps, and what was perhaps the most startling to Harry was how normal he seemed, both in appearance and demeanour. He wondered if he had been expecting something different, perhaps some sign that he was back serving a double life to both Dumbledore and Voldemort, just as he had in the First War.

But he looked no different than ever before. He wore the same black robes that made him resemble a bat, his long hair framing his face in curtains and his dark, penetrating eyes that still seemed to look right inside Harry. Unlike him, Snape was completely unchanged by what had happened.

Coming to a stop he held Harry's gaze, apparently knowing what was on his mind - perhaps the same thing was on his mind too. They looked at one another in silence, neither of them sure of the next move.

Thankfully Lupin was right there, and neither of them needed to speak to one another just yet. Lupin whispered something to Snape, and then after a moment Snape turned and headed back down into the basement, his robes sweeping up and billowing behind him the way they always did.

When he was gone Harry let out a breath, not realising he had been holding it.

'Give us a few minutes, please,' Lupin requested. 'We'll come and get you.'

Ron and Hermione waited with him for as long as they could. 'What are you going to say to him?' Hermione asked, coming to his side.

'Don't know.'

'Are you going to ask him anything?'

'Not sure.'

Ron snorted. 'Solid plan, mate.'

It was only a few minutes before another group came up the stairs, Mr and Mrs Weasley who ushered Ron and Hermione to go away, and Tonks who was staying a few nights. Sirius had come up too, and he lingered at the basement stairs and beckoned Harry to come over.

'Lupin's joining us. Is that okay?'

Harry noted that Sirius had assumed he was staying with him too, not that Harry minded. 'I don't need babysitters.'

'You don't, but Snivellus might need protection.'

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering if Sirius was joking. 'Even after he saved my life?'

'Yes.'

He accepted this, for he really shouldn't have expected any different. 'Just keep your temper, okay. I want to talk to him properly.'

Sirius nodded and then headed downstairs to the basement kitchen, entering first. The kitchen was crowded with extra chairs from the meeting that Lupin was clearing away with his wand, shrinking them down to miniature size and sweeping them into a small drawstring bag.

Snape sat stiffly at the kitchen table, looking rather displeased that Sirius was joining them. He looked at his old enemy with a lingering resentment that time would not ease, and it was clear there was no love lost between either of them. But Harry knew that although he had to make a point of asking Sirius to keep his temper, Snape would do so of his own accord, always completely in control of himself.

Promptly turning away from Sirius, Snape gave him his full attention, which admittedly was a little off-putting. In his four years of knowing Snape he had always hoped to avoid this particular Professor's notice, and it was unnerving to be facing him like this even without what had happened at Malfoy Manor.

Harry sat down at the chair opposite, Sirius sitting on his immediate left. Behind them Lupin had finished clearing away the spare chairs and was now standing in the far corner, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Of the four of them, he appeared to be the only one not a little uneasy, but Harry knew he was just better at being polite than the rest of them.

'Well?' Sirius said expectantly, looking at Snape.

Snape's body language was guarded, but he ignored Sirius all together. Instead he held Harry's gaze a little longer, making him feel as though he was looking right inside his mind.

'I had agreed to see you alone, Potter. But Black-'

'I'm his godfather.'

The heavy silence returned, and Snape's attention remained on Harry, ignoring what Sirius had said. Beneath the table Harry nervously clenched his hands, feeling his palms beginning to sweat. The sound of Snape's voice…it was perfectly normal, yet it had thrown him a little.

_The Dark Lord has shown you his mercy. He expects you to remember it._

Those were the words Snape had said to him in the graveyard, the night he freed him and sent him back to Hogwarts. Those words were suddenly ringing through his head, haunting him.

Harry said nothing, beginning to feel rather foolish. What were the two of them supposed to say to one another? What happened, happened. Snape had done his job, had planted the idea in Voldemort and ensured Harry was freed…he should be on his hands and knees thanking him.

Still sitting quietly he briefly considered just getting up and leaving, because really there was nothing to say. But then he was speaking, words coming out of his mouth without even thinking about them.

'If you're really working for Dumbledore, why didn't you protect me?'

The silence that filled the space after this question was awful, and Harry's heart began to beat awfully fast as he waited for Snape to answer. Snape just stared at him, his expression giving nothing away.

'I did protect you.'

Resisting the impulse to look to Sirius for support, Harry pressed on. 'How?'

'I shielded you from the retaliation of Lucius Malfoy,' Snape said lowly, speaking as though he were merely recounting the weather. 'Your display of wandless magic was impressive, at first. But after your anger faded your shield charm would not have protected you from an energetic Cruppie.'

'Watch it,' Sirius said harshly, tapping his clenched hand on the table top. 'Harry will not be insulted in this house.'

Snape ignored him again. 'I protected you by strengthening the charm and ensuring others could not retaliate. As you're aware, you would have suffered horrifically under the wand of Lucius Malfoy. Far beyond the restraint he had previously shown.'

'Really?' Harry questioned angrily. 'What he did to me was _restrained_?'

'Yes.'

The conversation stalled uncomfortably, and it took a moment for them to backtrack to what they were discussing before.

'I strengthened your shield charm to protect you from further attack. It startled the Death Eaters. They thought you had cast a charm of that strength of your accord. That you were capable of wandless magic not only in moments of panic, but as means of careful self-defence…potentially even attack.'

'But you didn't protect me from anything else,' he argued, feeling pent up emotions rising to the surface fast than he could process them. 'What Malfoy and Carrow did to me…why didn't you stop them?'

Snape peered at him curiously, lifting his head a little. 'I could not appear sympathetic.'

'Sympathetic? Y-you knew what they were doing to me, right?'

'I assure you, I did not take pleasure in your suffering. But given my long tenure at Hogwarts the Dark Lord was already questioning my allegiance. I could not show even the slightest sympathy for you.'

Unable to accept this, Harry shook his head to himself, talking over Sirius who had started to argue on his behalf. 'Dumbledore said you were to save me at any cost. Even if it meant revealing your allegiance to him.'

'I did save you.'

'You let them torture me!' he exclaimed. 'Why did you let them do that if you didn't have to?'

Finally Snape's otherwise plain expression faltered…it might have been a flicker of sympathy, though it was only brief. 'I allowed them to torture you as means to preserve my true allegiance,' he stated plainly. 'Your life was not in danger. There was no reason to compromise sixteen years of meticulous work.'

Harry looked at him in disbelief. 'They were torturing me.'

'I stopped them beating you senseless, did I not?'

Sitting back in the chair Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts, catching his breath that suddenly eluded him. He could not comprehend Snape's attitude - that he held no qualms or regrets that he prioritised being a double agent above stopping someone from being tortured. Of course he had known this all along, Dumbledore hadn't hidden Snape's involvement from him…he just didn't know until right now how much that it was bothering him.

'You brought a Dementor,' he argued, seeking something that didn't have a justified explanation. 'You knew what that would do to me.'

'Yes, I knew,' he said unapologetically. 'Which was precisely why I did it. If you could not fight there would be no reason for _me_ to harm you.'

Harry stared at him angrily, detesting that he had an explanation for everything. He resorted to the only thing he had left, the one moment that had been on his mind for two months now. It was a blind accusation, he had no proof…but it made sense.

'You did harm me,' Harry accused. 'I know you tortured me. Upstairs in that room you put me in.' He stretched out his left arm on the table, showing Snape the awful scars, scars that Kingsley said came from dark magic. 'I never saw your face, but I know that was you.'

Snape seemed to sit up a little straighter, his gaze flicking to the scars, but his demeanour did not change. 'Yes.'

There was a sharp intake of breath from Sirius, who was already reaching for his wand. Wanting more information Harry shook his head at him, turning back to Snape straight away. 'Why?'

'I had sufficient cause,' Snape stated, and finally a bite of impatience was evident. 'The Dark Lord saw reason to test my allegiance. If I were to save your life it was necessary to prove that I had no genuine interest in your wellbeing.'

Unable to stand it a moment longer Sirius stood up, his chair scraping loudly. Shaking with rage he clenched his wand by his side, while Lupin warily stepped forward. 'Get out of my house,' he growled.

Snape ignored him entirely, as did Harry.

'Had I not sufficiently harmed you, the Dark Lord would not have trusted my motives in setting you free. You would still be imprisoned at Malfoy Manor now. Regardless of what the Dark Lord would have you think, do not underestimate the depraved cruelty you would have faced under Lucius Malfoy's unsupervised wand.'

Harry nodded silently, finding no choice but to agree with the latter. He took a shuddered breath, trying to collect his thoughts. 'What were you saying to him? To Voldemort. You two were talking before you…before you did it.'

Snape's eyes flicked towards Sirius for just a moment, who remained standing, ready to raise his wand at a moment's notice. 'I told the Dark Lord that I was willing to prove my loyalty, but that I could not go so far that I might never regain your trust. It it also why I wore the Death Eater robes and hood.'

'So I wouldn't know it was you?'

'That was the intention. As far as the Dark Lord was concerned, you were to continue trusting me as Dumbledore's spy, despite my prior involvement at Malfoy Manor.'

Harry's head was spinning, trying to keep up with motives and plans, to understand. But slowly it came together, and things began to make sense.

Snape was right. Even at the time it happened Harry knew that torture hadn't been about breaking him or ensuring his obedience. It had been about the Death Eater, proven by the way Voldemort encouraged them, egging them on. That Death Eater had been Snape, setting out to prove he had no concern for Harry, and that his suggestion to free him was purely strategic, not altruistic.

Voldemort thought Snape was his spy…Dumbledore thought the same. Could they ever truly know where Snape's true allegiance lay?

Standing up, Harry looked down at Snape with a mixed expression, unsure of what to say. He didn't know if he could ever fully trust him, but Dumbledore did. It might not be enough forever, but for right now that would have to be. If Snape hadn't tortured him under Voldemort's direct order, Harry wouldn't have made it out of Malfoy Manor…he'd still be there.

'Thank you.'

It was all Harry could bring himself to say. There was a painful lump growing in his throat again, the basement walls feeling like they were closing in on him - but they had said all there was to say. The air was clear. They both knew what had happened and why, even if trust had been eroded, maybe forever.

Without another word to any of them Harry turned on his heel and left, leaving Lupin to deal with Sirius and Snape. He knew that Sirius was pent up with righteous anger, that he was protective and already looking for reason to have an argument with Snape. But that was not Harry's problem tonight. Trying not to look as though he were fleeing he closed the kitchen door and hastened upstairs, hearing the sound of Sirius beginning to shout.

As he made his way up to the first and then second floors he walked quietly, trying not to attract attention. Everyone in the house would be waiting on tenterhooks to see how this meeting with Snape would go, concerned and eager to hear that Harry was alright. On the second floor he could hear Mr Weasley in the bedroom telling Ron off, no doubt having been caught trying to go downstairs and wait for him.

Grateful to encounter no one Harry went all the way upstairs, making use of Sirius's well placed hiding spot on the front terrace. Stopping only to rub Buckbeak's neck he stepped out onto the terrace. It was colder out tonight than it had been when he was there earlier that morning, but the London skyline was no less beautiful.

He was too agitated to sit down, and so he stood with his hands on the railing, and when the front door opened and closed a few minutes later he looked on as Snape's shadowy figure departed, apparently unscathed from Sirius. He watched him go, surprised when he didn't immediately apparate away but instead set off down the dark Muggle street.

When Snape was gone Harry turned his attention back to the view, grateful that finally he had made it through the worst of the summer. Six weeks at the Dursleys, a dementor attack, the ministry hearing, recounting his imprisonment to complete strangers and that Umbridge woman, and now he had faced Snape. Harry was exhausted…but it was over. Now he could start looking forward to his return to Hogwarts, twelve days away and counting.

Harry lingered on the terrace as long as he pleased, interrupted only by Lupin who came up to check on him. It was late when he eventually went inside, having lingered a little longer more in the hope that Ron would be asleep and he could go to bed unquestioned.

He was only somewhat surprised to find Sirius waiting in his bedroom, but transformed into Padfoot. He had once commented that he found it much easier to sleep as Padfoot, particularly after so long in Azkaban. That night he was laying on the end of Harry's bed, waiting for him.

It seemed Sirius was more than just angry about what they had learned, and with a sinking heart Harry suspected he felt guilty about it. After all, he had agreed to the plan Snape suggested, that they tell Voldemort that Harry would be more useful in the future than he was now. It had been he who asked Snape to do anything to save Harry. If Sirius had known what it would take would he have allowed Snape to torture him, even if it meant saving his life?

On the other side of the room Ron was sitting up in bed. 'Alright, mate?'

Grateful the question wasn't too enquiring, Harry nodded. 'Yeah, m'alright.'

Changing into some pyjamas Harry got into bed and sank down into his pillows, and it didn't feel strange that Sirius stayed. It reminded him of the night in the hospital wing, how comforting it was to have him there at the end of the bed. He tried to get comfortable, able to properly stretch out only when Sirius got up to move.

Shifting over he made enough room for the both of them, allowing Sirius to curl up beside him with a long sigh, his tail wagging to express something - Harry couldn't be sure what. The wagging tail was almost completely involuntary, Sirius joking that it used to give him away every time he tried to be stern with Lupin at full moon.

'You're lucky I'm a dog person,' Harry muttered, setting his glasses onto the nightstand and extinguishing the light. 'But if I get one flea bite…'

Sirius growled softly, a clear rebuke that he did not have fleas. Chuckling, Harry got comfortable again and closed his eyes. He braced himself for another night dreaming of the endless corridor and locked doors, or worse the haunting nightmares of June, the memories that were twisted and distorted by his sleeping mind.

It was difficult to fall asleep, his mind still racing from the events of a very long day still invading his thoughts, making it difficult to relax. After a little while he could tell that Sirius was asleep, and not for the first time Harry wondered what his own Animagus form would be…if it really might be easier to fall asleep when transformed. It seemed like a lot of work just to get some sleep, and yet Sirius, his father and Pettigrew had managed it while at Hogwarts. They had not been much older than Harry was now…

As he drifted off to sleep, Sirius close by his side, Harry let his mind dwell on his impending return to Hogwarts, finally able to look forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers - I hope you enjoyed the first true one-on-one scene with Harry and Snape, and that it lived up to any expectations. I really enjoyed writing them together, and there's plenty of scenes with them together in later chapters when Harry starts and expands on Occlumency.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, please do leave a review with your thoughts! Thanks.


	28. Chapter 28 - First of September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 28 - First of September

When September 1 dawned Harry didn't leap out of bed, despite how much he had been looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. Instead he rolled over and buried his face into his pillow, regretting how late he had stayed up as he drifted back off to sleep.

The last two weeks of summer had passed in a blur, the occupants of Grimmauld Place somehow managing to pass the time even though they were still confined indoors. There were still plenty more rooms to purge and scrub clean, more treasure troves of trinkets set aside to be pawned or tossed into rubbish sacks. As persistent as ever Kreacher continued his attempts to sabotage their efforts, rifling through the rubbish sacks and scavenging what he could. For the most part Sirius had given up on stopping him, so long as what he took back to his den wasn't anything dark, dangerous or mouldy.

Despite the sheer volume of work to be done, Harry enjoyed the remaining two weeks of the summer holidays, feeling lighter and more free than he had in a long time in spite of the dark spectre that lingered over his head. As the summer drew to a close they waited anxiously for their book lists, and finally they arrived on the last day of August. Ron and Hermione had been made Gryffindor Prefects, and after an initial bout of envy that Harry quickly got over they had celebrated, Harry admiring the new Cleansweep Eleven broomstick Ron's parents had given him as congratulations.

Last night there had been a small party to celebrate Ron and Hermione becoming Prefects. There had been plenty of people to celebrate, a dozen or so Order members spending the night in order to escort them to the station the next morning. But after putting in plenty of face time Harry and Sirius had taken some Butterbeers and snuck away upstairs, enjoying one last night together on the terrace.

They had talked for ages, mainly Sirius recounting old stories of his youth with Harry's dad. The various infractions that had gotten them detention together, how teachers would punish them by making them sit separately in class and that it had compelled them to learn the charm for paper aeroplanes so they could still pass notes to one another. Just like Harry and Ron, they had met on the train during First Year and became friends almost instantly, a friendship that grew into a brotherhood.

Always craving information about his parents, no matter how inconsequential, Harry had listened to every word, taking in everything he possibly could. Hagrid didn't know his parents that closely, and he'd barely gotten to know Lupin before he left Hogwarts in his Third Year, and so he craved every minor tidbit.

To Harry's regret they hadn't just talked about his parents, and the conversation eventually turned back to Hogwarts, Sirius asking (a little too late) if he was really ready to go back. Appreciating his offer that he could stay longer at Grimmauld Place, and suspecting Sirius had hoped to be taken up on it, Harry assured him he was ready.

'And Snape?' Sirius pressed. This was the first time Snape had come up between them since the night they spoke to one another.

'I don't care about him,' Harry said nonchalantly, having already started putting these memories into the furthest recesses of his mind. 'I get it.'

Sirius scoffed under his breath. 'You're more forgiving than I would be.'

At this Harry was silent for a few moments, sipping his butterbeer to delay his response. Sirius continued.

'I know why he did it,' he said, not needing to specify what he was referring to. 'If he hadn't, we'd have never gotten you back. But I don't think I could forgive him.'

'I never said I forgive him,' Harry said quietly. He looked down at his arm, grateful that once he was back at school he would be wearing long sleeves again. It was one thing for the people around here to see these scars, it was another to have his schoolmates see them. 'I thanked him for getting me out. I didn't _forgive_ him.'

'You'll tell me if he gives you a hard time in class, won't you?'

'Of course,' he replied, meaning it. After all that had happened and all that Snape had seen, Harry rightfully figured the days of putting up with his bullying in class were over.

'How are you going to deal with Malfoy?'

It took Harry a moment to realise that he was talking about Draco Malfoy, not Lucius. Now his rivalry with Draco Malfoy felt childish, but it was never going to change - not after what had happened at the hands of his father.

He wondered how much Draco knew about what happened to him, if his father had spent the summer bragging about how quickly Harry had broken under his torture, how he had screamed and pleaded for him to stop. But Malfoy wouldn't be the only one at school who knew what had happened to him. Both Crabbe and Goyle's fathers had been there in the graveyard and at Malfoy Manor.

'I don't know,' he said quietly, wishing they could change the subject. 'What would you do?'

'A good punch in the face usually works wonders. You know how to throw a punch without breaking your hand?'

Harry shrugged. 'Dunno. I tried to provoke Dudley while I was in Surrey, but he wouldn't rise.'

'A good fist fight can soothe the soul. I punched your dad once, you know.'

'What?' Harry exclaimed, forgetting all about the Malfoys and laughing in amusement when he saw Sirius was smiling. 'Why?'

'We were fooling around, I didn't mean to. Well, maybe I meant it a little…'

'Was he okay?'

Sirius waved his hand as if brushing him off. 'He was fine, loved the bruise. But I broke my thumb, and it hurt like hell.'

Harry grinned, picturing the scene playing out in his head, wondering if Ron would let him do a few practice punches against him. 'Go on then, teach me.'

Sirius was grinning too, and they quickly moved aside the chairs and empty Butterbeer bottles as they got to work. He made a first and let Sirius correct it, making him straighten his wrist then showing him which part of his hand to make contact with.

'If you wanna make a point, go for the eye or the nose,' Sirius advised, playfully swinging his fist at Harry who didn't flinch. 'But if you wanna make him hurt, go for the gut right here,' he advised, pressing his fist into the top of Harry's stomach, below his rib cage. 'Hit him as hard as you can. Give it a try on me.'

'No, I'm not hitting you.'

'Go on.'

'I'm not falling for it,' Harry laughed, suspecting a trick.

'Fine,' Sirius rolled his eyes, he too laughing. He raised his palms in front of himself. 'Go on, throw a few punches. Pretend it's Snape.'

By the time Harry had learned all he could there were tears of laughter in both their eyes, and it was no small wonder they attracted the attention of Mrs Weasley who was awake to check on them through the night. When she discovered them up there play fighting she had loudly exclaimed about the time, waking Buckbeak in the process.

Trying to straighten his face Harry had made up a flimsy excuse, that he'd had a nightmare and woken up, but the empty bottles of butterbeer and his lack of pyjamas gave him away. When he awoke the next morning he was exhausted, and would surely pay for it later in the day, but he didn't regret the reason for his exhaustion one bit.

'You gettin' outta bed mate?' Ron asked, already dressed and bustling around their room.

Harry grunted lowly, a clear request that he be left alone.

'Mum'll blow her top,' Ron warned. 'Even at you. You know what she's like on the first of September.'

Indeed Ron was right, for already they could hear what sounded like Mrs Weasley shouting about something downstairs, Fred and George apologising profusely. Still Harry didn't get up. Not too bothered abut the time he closed his eyes, bargaining for just a few more minutes of rest, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep on the train to Hogwarts.

He was abruptly awoken with a shock of cold water hitting his face, and he coughed and spluttered as he sat up in outrage. Sirius was standing over him, giving his bark like laugh as he sprayed Harry with water from the end of his wand.

'Sirius!'

When the water stopped Harry just sat in his bed and glared at Sirius, dripping wet. He coughed pathetically, wincing in discomfort at the water up his nose.

'Get dressed, or Molly will be in here next,' Sirius warned.

When Harry wasn't quick enough his pillow turned on him, beginning to beat him over the head until he stumbled out of bed and grabbed his wand, casting the counter jinx. Still annoyed he hastened to get ready and finished throwing things into his trunk. By the time he managed to get downstairs he found Grimmauld Place in a state of semi-controlled chaos.

Their school trunks littered the hallway as Mad-Eye stomped around angrily, muttering under his breath about someone who hadn't showed up to help escort them to Kings Cross. Meanwhile Ginny limped past him, quickly followed by George who was carrying all of her things and Fred who was offering his firstborn as compensation.

Trying to stay out of the way Harry looked around, knowing there was nothing he ought to do except wait for instruction just like Ron and Hermione were. Mrs Black was screaming obscenities at everyone she laid eyes on, forcing Hermione to hide behind Ron, but it was useless trying to close the curtains.

'Hermione!' Hestia Jones called out, wincing at the sound of Mrs Black. 'Hermione dear, you're coming with me. Leave your trunk.'

Doing as she was told Hermione drew herself up to full height and made her way down the hall, ignoring Mrs Black as best she could.

'Be gone, you filth! Wretched Mudblood! Never besmirch-'

'Ron, you're with us too!' Hestia shouted urgently, waving him over too.

As if he'd been hoping for this Ron immediately started down the corridor, shouting back at Mrs Black until Hermione seized his arm and dragged him out the front door. A few minutes passed, George ruefully explaining how he and Fred had injured Ginny, and then Lupin came by and told Harry to come with him.

'You're with me and Tonks,' he explained, ushering him out the door. 'Ron and Hermione have already gone ahead, and…' Lupin trailed off as he looked back down the hall, giving a heavy sigh. 'Sirius. Dumbledore said no.'

Climbing over the mess of trunks Padfoot gave a loud bark of disagreement, and Lupin watched helplessly as he slipped between them and raced out the front door. Harry tried not to grin, not wanting to encourage his godfather to go against Dumbledore, but he couldn't help it. Besides, he didn't blame Sirius for wanting to get out, nor for wanting to see him off to the train. Dumbledore wouldn't let him visit Privet Drive, go to the hearing, nor to the meeting with Bones - why should he be prevented from seeing him off to Hogwarts too?

Harry and Lupin emerged into the beautiful September sunshine and began making their way to Kings Cross, a fully disguised Tonks joining them at the corner. They walked casually and without any sense of unease or danger, while Sirius amused Harry by chasing pigeons and then scaring a Muggle cyclist who wobbled rather dramatically. After each of these times Padfoot would circle back to them, tail wagging happily before racing off again, looking for the next thing to do.

'We should have brought a leash,' Harry commented with a grin. 'He makes a good dog.'

'Yes, he has a surprisingly sweet disposition,' Lupin agreed. 'On more than one occasion, your father suggested he make the change permanent.'

At this a burst of laughter erupted from within Harry. Happiness was swelling up inside of him, an emotion that he'd once feared he might never truly feel again. It was so real and genuine that Sirius stopped in his tracks and looked back, tilting his head in surprise. But upon seeing the happiness on Harry's face he gave a loud bark and set off running again, his wagging tail making him laugh again.

Stopping in a nearby garden Lupin looked around, finding a stick and showing it to Sirius. He tossed it down the street ahead of them, and Sirius raced off to collect it, and this time it was Lupin smiling.

'His playfulness made me look forward to full moon,' he said wistfully, taking the stick back and throwing it again. 'Your dad would play too, but being a stag his nature was more inclined to keeping us safe, making sure we didn't stray anywhere we shouldn't. But Sirius only ever wanted to play.'

'I can see that,' Harry mused, watching as he got distracted by another dog on the other side of the road.

'After my transformations were be over I would be exhausted, and often would just lay down wherever I was to sleep. Your dad would stand guard, and Sirius would lay down with me,' Lupin smiled, watching Padfoot. 'Even though an Animagus retains their human faculties they feel the influence of the nature of their animagus form. A dog needs to protect, to comfort…and chase a stick.'

'What do you do for Full Moon now?' Harry asked, figuring if Lupin had brought it up it wasn't rude to ask.

'Well I have the Wolfsbane, Professor Snape still sends me a batch every month. Dumbledore's doing I suspect. These days I'll be staying at Grimmauld Place during Full Moon. Less exciting than the old days, but no less comforting during a stressful night.'

For a moment Harry was taken aback by how openly Lupin admitted to needing comfort. To Harry it was permanently ingrained in him by the Dursley's that whenever he was in pain he needed to get over it, to simply go into his cupboard instead of seeking out someone to help him. It was hard to get that attitude out of his head even now, and disconcerting to hear something entirely different.

'Do you miss it?' he asked. 'Being at Hogwarts?'

'I try not to let myself live in the past,' Lupin said thoughtfully. 'But yes, I miss it very much. You seem glad to be going back to school.'

'I am. I really am.'

'We're glad too. Even Sirius,' he added with a knowing tone of voice. 'He doesn't show it well, but he understands. Getting back to school and back to normal life, I daresay it will help.'

Harry nodded in agreement, feeling glad for this conversation. It was really the first time he or anyone had spoken the words inside his head, how much better things would be once he was back at school. He had enjoyed being at Grimmauld Place, but the last two months had felt strange, making him feel completely displaced in the world. He desperately wanted to start putting what happened in June behind him. Nothing would be exactly like it was before, that much he knew, but it would be close enough…at Hogwarts he would finally feel like he was at home again, that he was in the right place.

A short while later they entered Kings Cross Station, Sirius staying right by Harry's side as they made their way through the many travellers, pleased to find it wasn't too crowded. But they were halfway to the platforms when he felt Lupin place his hand on his back, gently steering him to the right. Sirius was now walking so close to him Harry nearly stepped on his paw. The sudden change made him stop in his tracks, surprised.

'What?' he asked expectantly.

Beside him Sirius' hackles were raised, while Lupin and Tonks exchanged a glance. This was all Harry needed to see in order to know what was wrong, that there was someone around he didn't want to run in to. It had occurred to him that this might happen, so he just grit his teeth and asked who it was.

'The Malfoys.'

Against his better judgement Harry looked back in the direction they had originally been headed, almost immediately laying eyes on Lucius Malfoy. He sat inside a small Muggle cafe, clearly visible through the glass front. Crowded around the small table was himself, his wife, Draco and someone he didn't recognise, but the quill they were scrawling notes on suggested it was a reporter. Lucius Malfoy was gesticulating with his hands, looking as though he were talking at great length.

There was no mistaking the choice in location. Lucius Malfoy would never set foot inside a Muggle establishment unless it was to guarantee that Harry Potter would see him. It was also readily apparent what the point of that meeting was, that the Daily Prophet was writing about how perfectly respectable and law abiding Lucius was. There had been no response to the fact that Harry had made a formal statement to Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour, no press coverage of the fact that there was now a formal investigation into his claims, including those about Malfoy.

It appeared that the Death Eater's efforts to covertly discredit Harry's story wasn't going to let up any time soon, not if Malfoy was still at it, and still trying to intimidate him. For a moment Harry considered walking straight past the cafe as he normally would have, looking Malfoy in the eye and showing that he would not be intimidated. But in the end it was just easier to do as he was told, and so when Tonks prompted him to follow her in a different direction, he did.

'Don't let this ruin your day,' Lupin said kindly, clasping Harry on the shoulder as they took the long way towards Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

'I won't,' Harry said simply. 'Lucius Malfoy's as afraid of me as I am of him.'

Putting the Malfoy's out of his mind Harry followed Tonks through the brick wall and passed through the other side, and that moment felt like bliss. The Hogwarts Express was right there in front of him, sooty steam billowing over the platform packed with students and their families. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar…he was really going back…

It took no time at all to find Ron and Hermione, whose parents had met them there to bid their daughter a final farewell as she started a new school year.

'Nice dog, Harry!' called a tall boy with dreadlocks.

'Thanks, Lee,' said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.

Moody had met them all there, a porter's cap pulled over his mismatched eyes. 'No trouble?' he growled.

'Lucius Malfoy's out there,' said Lupin. 'But no trouble.'

'I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,' said Moody. 'That's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.'

As time edged closer to the eleven o'clock departure they hurriedly began unloading the luggage trolley Moody had brought with him, and were almost finished by the time Fred, George and Ginny turned up with Mr and Mrs Weasley, they too giving Moody a look that suggested although there had been no trouble, they had passed the Malfoys.

The train driver sounded a warning whistle, and the students on the platform began hurrying on to the train, many of them pausing to give their families one last hug goodbye.

Saying their goodbyes was no quick and easy feat, everyone from Lupin to Moody shaking Harry's hand and clapping him on the shoulder, imparting last minute advice to look after himself and take care of anything he wrote in a letter.

'Quick, quick,' said Mrs Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice. 'Write … be good … if you've forgotten anything we'll send it on … on to the train, now, hurry …'

When they hugged Harry made a point of properly saying goodbye to Mrs Weasley, hugging her tightly and telling her thank you. He did the same with Mr Weasley too, saying the same thing but grateful for something else entirely - he had done so much for Harry recently, and he was grateful.

As Mr Weasley tried to hurry him onto the train Harry whirled around looking for Sirius, relieved to see him before he left. He was about to crouch down and give him a quick hug before Padfoot reared onto his hind legs and placed his front paws on Harry's shoulders, but the train jerked as it prepared to pull out of the station.

Padfoot barked at him loudly and then got down, and that was all Harry needed. 'Bye,' he said gratefully, catching himself before he said Sirius's name out loud. 'Thank you.'

He wasn't the last student on the train, but that didn't stop Mrs Weasley practically shoving him towards the door in great haste.

'See you!' Harry called out the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione and Ginny waved beside him.

As the train pulled away Harry lingered by the window, Ron, Hermione and Ginny waiting with him. The figures of the Weasleys and other Order members began to shrink rapidly, but Padfoot was bounding alongside the train, wagging his tail when Harry waved at him. He felt sad to be leaving Grimmauld Place, a distinct sense of loss that came with the knowledge that he and Sirius were parting just as they really started getting to know each other. But he was also happy, so happy to be returning to Hogwarts.

Harry waved again, hoping that Sirius knew how grateful he was for everything, how much these few short weeks had meant to him. He was still chasing the train right to the end of the platform, and then the train rounded a bend and Sirius was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers, hope you all enjoyed the lighter toned chapter - thanks for reading.


	29. Chapter 29 - Morning on the Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 29 - Morning on the Pitch

It was just before dawn on Saturday when Harry stepped outside, leaving the castle as the sun peeked up over the mountains.

This would be the first free time he'd had to himself all week, and as he hastened across the grounds he breathed in the sweet smell of freedom. Carried over his shoulder was his Firebolt, but before he could make it even halfway down to the Quidditch pitch the need to flee his life became too strong to resist.

Securing his schoolbag over his shoulder Harry mounted his Firebolt and kicked off, groaning in relief. It had only been a few short weeks since he had flown from Privet Drive to Grimmauld Place, but it felt like it had been months, maybe even years. He had been looking forward to coming back to Hogwarts for so long, and while every other aspect of his return had disappointed him, getting back onto his Firebolt did not.

It was only Saturday, and already Harry felt completely defeated.

In hindsight he should have known to expect this, that the feeling of school unity he felt the day he visited Cedric's memorial wouldn't last. Things had been okay at the end of last year, but in the two short months that had passed things had taken a turn for the worse. It didn't matter that Dumbledore had been upfront with the school, that he had told them of Voldemort's return and Cedric's death at the Leaving Feast.

Now, two months later no one believed him. It had been naive to look forward to coming back to Hogwarts, to believe that the feeling of unity the school had in the days following Cedric's death would actually last. With the Ministry calling him an attention seeking liar Harry was put under a giant spotlight at Hogwarts. He known to expect interest and curiosity, but not open hostility, especially from people like Seamus.

The workload this year was proving to be enormous, and they'd only just finished their first week. Every class had started with a lecture from the teacher about the demands of doing their OWL year, and copious amounts of homework and reading had been set. It was no wonder Fred and George hadn't warned him about this. He might not have come back had he known.

Not unexpectedly, Umbridge's class was by far the worst, surpassing even Potions for Harry's most hated. When he saw her in the Great Hall the first night back he had been horrified, so sick to his stomach he barely touched his food. Only two weeks ago he had recounted to Madam Bones everything that had happened to him, and Umbridge had called him a liar.

Now here she was at Hogwarts, his new teacher. He'd had four detentions with her already, the blood quill a dirty little secret she was forcing him to carry around.

Aside from Ron making it to the Quidditch team, the only bright moment of his week had been the discovery of what Sirius had secretly stowed in his trunk, the two-way mirror lifting his spirits after an absolutely awful Monday.

_This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions._

Sirius had also left him a belated birthday present, though Harry wished he had given it to him in person. It was a new wrist watch to replace the one that broke in the lake last year, plain except for the faint gold outline of the Gryffindor crest on the face. Nothing fancy or elaborate like some other wizard watches, it was exactly to Harry's taste as if he'd chosen it himself.

Reaching the Quidditch pitch Harry lazily began to glide around, properly reacquainting himself with the Firebolt and the feeling of being in the air. During his two days at the Burrow he had gone flying with Ron and the others, but at the time he hadn't been able to enjoy it, he as just going through the motions. The first time he had really enjoyed himself was on the flight from Surrey to Grimmauld Place, but even that hadn't allowed any freedom for him to mess around and truly feel free.

Enjoying the peaceful morning air harry rose high to circle around the very top of the grandstand towers, enjoying the feeling of the wind rushing through his hair. Up there he was completely alone, exactly the way he wanted to be.

In a few hours there would be other people out here, Ron too joining him so they could warm up before his first Quidditch training session. But though Harry had desperately craved a well earned sleep in, he needed peace and quiet atop his broom even more, and so he dragged himself out of bed before dawn, using the alarm on his new watch.

Still gliding around lazily, Harry went lower down over the Quidditch pitch, keeping up just enough speed to feel the wind on his face. Turning his broom sideways he held on with one hand, trailing the fingertips of his other through the short grass.

There was no evidence of what happened here last June. Nothing to suggest there had ever been a maze, nor that Cedric's dead body had been brought back here. The maze had already disappeared by the time Harry returned, and he couldn't remember that night clearly enough to pin point exactly where the Cup had returned them, though it had to have been the centre of the maze where they first touched it.

It was strange, that's all…that what had happened here was completely erased.

Straightening up again Harry slowed and landed, feeling the soft grass beneath his feet as he walked a few paces. He stumbled a little, his trainers a little loose given they had once belonged to Ron. Stupidly he wished he still had his old trainers, the ones that were too small and peeling away from the uppers, held together with charms. Mrs Weasley had physically recoiled when she saw the state of them, immediately replacing them with hand me downs before tossing the old ones in the rubbish - they weren't even good enough to donate, yet Harry missed them. It was stupid, he knew that…

Standing on the Quidditch pitch Harry looked around, still looking for some kind of sign, some evidence. But not even a blade of grass looked out of place. With a heavy heart he wandered towards the centre of the pitch, eyes scanning the grass and then the stands where everyone had been watching the Third Task from. Still there was nothing, no evidence at all.

Reaching what felt like the centre of the pitch he sat down on the grass. It was now that he started getting a feeling of deja vu, and he clung to it desperately, trying to remember that night. And then it came to him. He remembered his knees hitting the grass, the way he had swayed and kept his eyes open just long enough to see the Quidditch stands, to recognise where he was.

The memory was vivid, allowing him to feel the way he had clung to Cedric's wrist even when someone tried to prise his fingers away. That had been the only thing that mattered to him. Holding on to Cedric, making sure he didn't lose him.

Instead of making him feel awful the way other unexpected flashbacks did, this served to make him feel more grounded. Sane. He had been searching for this memory, needing it to remind himself this had happened. The Quidditch pitch was now absent of all evidence of what happened here, but it wasn't absent from his memory. It had happened, and he wasn't insane.

With a great sigh he lay down completely in the grass, staring up at the morning sky - and then after a moment he pulled off his glasses and tossed them down beside him. There was a slight breeze whipping across the pitch, caressing his face. This had to be the most relaxed he'd been since his return to Hogwarts.

Raising left wrist he brought it close to his face, squinting without his glasses to make out the time. He'd been out here flying for an hour already, though it felt like only five minutes. But it was still too early to contact Sirius, who would still be sleeping. Harry's arm slumped back down, and he reminded himself to thank Sirius for the watch.

By now he had already decided he wasn't going to tell Sirius about what Umbridge was doing to him in detentions. It was like a battle between himself and Umbridge, a power struggle, and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing he had complained to someone. This whole thing was deeply personal.

Last night in detention she had touched him, had taken hold of his hand to examine the wounds cut into his skin. But the pain had seared in his lightning bolt scar, not his hand, and he'd felt so strange in that moment. It startled him, made him wrench his hand back - it was sickening enough what she was doing to him, that she forced him to maim himself and then dared touch his already scarred hand. But the pain in his scar, that was something else entirely - and Sirius needed to know about it.

It seemed Harry had fallen asleep for some time, for when he was next aware of himself it was almost eight o'clock in the morning, and the sun felt warmer on his face. Abruptly sitting up he put his glasses on, feeling a little vulnerable and unsettled until he looked around and ascertained he was still alone. No one had snuck up on him unexpectedly.

It took a few minutes to feel at ease again, finding himself looking up into the stands as if fearing someone was there, waiting to sneak up on him. Chalking this up to paranoia he took his wand out and summoned his schoolbag from where he had dumped it on the other side of the pitch, confident that no one had interfered with it thanks to the security charms he had cast. Taking a drink of water he briefly considered getting back up in the air to fly a little more, getting the feeling he wouldn't be much in the mood after talking to Sirius.

Looking at his Firebolt which lay nearby he began to feel disheartened - he ought to get another few laps in, but he couldn't quite be bothered. Instead he was itching to talk to Sirius...flying could wait. Taking the two-way mirror from his pocket Harry studied it carefully, reading the note a second time and imagining his dad and Sirius in detention, flouting the teacher's authority. He levitated the mirror in the air in front of him, and then he very clearly stated Sirius's name aloud.

His own reflection vanished, but what he saw wasn't much of anything, just an odd greyish colour. Wondering if it was broken he said Sirius's name again, and then came a muffled sound. He waited patiently, and his heart lifted when he saw a split second glimpse of Sirius's face in the mirror. There was a whole flurry of movement now, and then his face appeared fully, eyes blinking rapidly.

'Harry, what's wrong?'

'Nothing,' he hastened to assure him, realising that Sirius had indeed intended this for emergencies. 'Just…good morning.'

Sirius looked visibly relieved, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand over his face. His shaggy black hair was all mussed up on one side, his face unshaven. 'Where are you?'

'Quidditch pitch.'

'I see,' Sirius said, lowering his hand and looking into the mirror again. This time he was smiling, looking as happy to see Harry as he was to see him. 'So, you found the mirror, huh?'

'Found it. Thought I'd check in.'

'I'm glad you did.'

'Thanks for the watch by the way,' he said, raising his wrist to show Sirius he was wearing it. 'I love it.'

'Good. It's just to get you through a few years until you're seventeen. You'll get your dad's watch then.'

Harry just nodded, his heart feeling fuller than it had in a while. It seemed despite his restraint Harry had used the mirror too early, for Sirius said 'Give me a minute' and then set the mirror down. Waiting patiently Harry took the opportunity to cast his eyes over his surroundings, paranoia compelling to look into the stands again. He didn't get the feeling that he was being watched by anyone, but still he needed to feel assured his conversation with Sirius was entirely private.

He looked back at the mirror, watching the images moving and catching a glimpse of what looked like a ceiling and then the staircase down into the kitchen. 'Who else is at head quarters?'

'No one,' Sirius answered, doing something noisy. 'Just me for now. Everyone left the day after you lot. Lupin will be back tomorrow night for full moon. He'll probably stay a few days after that.'

Sirius's face came back into the mirror now, and Harry could see that he was sitting at the kitchen table, looking much less disheveled than before. A mug of coffee zoomed towards him, and he closed his eyes as he took the first sip of the day.

'How's your first week been?'

The happy smile slipped from Harry's face now. He had been intending to lie, not wanting Sirius to worry about him, but the truth came out. 'It's been shite,' he said bluntly. At his own words he gave a short laugh, because _shite_ just didn't cover it.

'Not what you thought it would be, huh?'

'No.' He thought about the way the whole school seemed to have turned on him, the sense of unity from the day of Cedric's memorial having vanished. 'I'm the school pariah. The only people who believe me have radishes hanging from their ears.'

Sirius pulled a face. 'That's a joke, right?'

'I wish,' he muttered, immediately reminding himself not to be ungrateful. There were others too, like Neville and Ernie…just not many of them.

'How were your classes?'

Harry wondered how to explain. 'D'you remember your fifth year?

'Unfortunately, I do.'

'Get a load of my Monday timetable,' he complained. 'Double History of Magic, Double Potions, Divination, and then Double Defence Against the Dark Arts with Umbridge.'

'Sounds like child abuse,' Sirius sympathised.

Pleased with his response Harry laughed, making a note to repeat that to Ron. 'It should be criminal.'

'Has Snape been decent?'

_No._ But that wasn't the answer he gave. 'Potions was fine.'

Potions had not been fine, not even for a moment. Again Harry had felt like he was under a spotlight, and every interaction with Snape felt ten times worse than the years before. Snape was picking on him even more than ever, as if he was still proving to Voldemort than he had no allegiance or care for him. Harry had gotten back at him though, having made a point of rolling up his sleeves during class and making sure Snape could see the scars he had left him with.

Though he had claimed to have no regrets or discomfort about what he did to him, Snape's gaze was drawn to those scars like a magnet, and he stared at them a few moments until he looked away and went to pick on someone else for a change. Other people in the class were looking at the scars then, but Harry didn't care. _Let them look - let them see the proof._

'I hear you're not getting along with Umbridge. Not to be unexpected though. She makes my mother look nice.'

Harry didn't say anything for a few moments. He looked down at the grass, pulling a few blades out and twisting them with his fingers 'I can't believe she's here,' he said quietly, relieved to be getting this off his chest. 'After everything I had to say in front of her. Hermione says she's here because the Ministry is interfering. Fudge is still trying to discredit Dumbledore.'

'Hermione's right.'

_'_ How'd you know I'm not getting along with her?'

'McGonagall wrote to me.'

Harry rolled his eyes, now annoyed with McGonagall. 'Great. So she tattled on me.'

'The Head of House always writes to parents when a student's in detention. This time she sent it to me, not your aunt and uncle.'

This was news to him, and for a moment he wondered about the letters his aunt and uncle must have received, informing them of their nephew's infraction and punishment. Still annoyed with McGonagall, Harry did note that it seemed she at least considered Sirius an appropriate parent, at least appropriate enough to inform of misbehaviour.

'So, four nights of detention in your first week. Not even your dad and I managed that. What did she make you do?'

Harry didn't exactly lie. 'Lines.'

'Is that all?'

'Yep. I must not tell lies.'

'Appropriately dull.'

'It wasn't completely dull. Last night she was checking the lines I wrote, and she…brushed up against my hand a little. When she touched my hand my scar hurt…bad.'

Sirius sipped at his coffee again, peering at him. 'When she touched you?' he clarified. 'Are you sure it happened when she touched you?'

'I'm sure.'

'Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often,' said Sirius, sounding dismissive.

'You don't think it had anything to do with her?'

'I doubt it,' said Sirius. 'I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater –'

'She's foul enough to be one,' said Harry darkly.

'Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,' said Sirius with a wry smile. 'You should tell Dumbledore.'

Almost immediately Harry balked. 'What? No.'

'Harry, y-'

'You're right, it's not a big deal. It hurts all the time now.'

'Dumbledore would want to know.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, before he could stop himself, 'that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it? My scar.'

There was a strange silence now, Harry falling short of words. It didn't matter that Sirius had tried to explain things to him, that Dumbledore was afraid Voldemort would use Harry to get to him if he knew they were in any way close, but it made no difference. The complete and absolute lack of contact from his Headmaster hurt, making him feel like a fool for trusting Dumbledore enough to tell him every detail of what had happened. All he got for his trouble was six weeks in Privet Drive.

He glanced back at Sirius in the mirror, wanting to say that he missed him. Coming back to Hogwarts hadn't been what he expected, it didn't feel the way it used to. But he didn't say any of this, not wanting Sirius to worry, or do anything stupid like come out to see him. So instead he filled the silence with something light hearted, something that wasn't weighing on his mind.

'Ron got onto the Quidditch team,' he said proudly. 'Keeper.'

Sirius smiled. 'That's great news. Tell him I said congratulations. Is that why you're out so early? Quidditch practice already?'

Harry nodded, finding that easier than to explain how desperately he had needed to just get away from everyone, even his dorm mates.

'You've been looking forward to Quidditch for months now,' Sirius said supportively. 'Don't think about homework, don't think about Umbridge or Voldemort. Things will start to blow over soon enough.'

'Thanks,' he said blankly, not sure of how else to respond.

There was another strange silence now, and then Sirius made his excuses.

'I'd better go, Buckbeak's squawking up a fit. He's been terrible all week.'

Harry looked at the mirror in concern. 'Is he sick?'

At this question Sirius just smiled, shaking his head in exasperation. 'No, he misses you lot visiting him ten times a day. And I let slip Hagrid's name again, so now he's missing Hagrid too.'

'He's not the only one,' Harry said glumly, heart sinking even more.

'Noticed he wasn't around, huh?'

'Hard not to. He must be loving that holiday in France,' Harry said pointedly, fishing for information.

'You know I can't tell you anything.'

' _Won't_ tell me anything,' Harry muttered under his breath.

'I'd better go,' Sirius said again, sounding apologetic this time. 'Listen Harry. I know you can't stand being called a liar, but keep your nose clean when it comes to Umbridge. Just shut up and get through it. I don't want another note from McGonagall telling me you're in detention again.'

Harry looked at him in outrage, having not expected that kind of advice from Sirius of all people. 'What am I supposed to do, just let her walk all over me?'

'It won't be forever.'

'She called Cedric's death an accident,' he said angrily. 'I can't just let her-'

'You have to, Harry,' Sirius insisted, cutting him off. 'Like it or not, you're going to have to deal with her all year. Don't waste all your energy on her.'

'I'll just give up, shall I?'

'You're fighting something you can't win.'

'Gee, thanks.'

'That's reality. You're never going to win, it's why Fudge appointed her. Don't waste your energy. Learn how to tolerate her and make it through the year.'

Harry had really been hoping for something more than _learn to live with it_ , especially from Sirius. He could feel his eyes burning, and it was hard to keep his expression neutral against the rage that was building up inside of him. He dug the heel of his trainer into the grass, feeling a grim satisfaction when he ground it down to find soil beneath.

'Well, I should let you go,' he said, trying not to sound terse.

Perhaps sensing Harry's disappointment, Sirius tried to change tact. 'Look, I know-'

'How do I turn this mirror off?'

Sirius stopped, looking like he regretted everything he said. 'Just say mischief managed. Harry, make sure you tell Dumbledore about your scar, okay? Or I will.'

'Maybe you should, at least he'll look you in the eye,' he said bitterly, trying to swallow everything down and end this conversation on a good note. 'Thanks for the chat. Mischief managed.'

Before Sirius could say another word the connection disappeared, and the mirror resumed showing Harry his reflection. He caught a brief glimpse of his unhappy face before angrily slapping the mirror out of the air, watching it bounce end over end across the grass. It would have been preferable to throw it as far away as he could, to take out his wand and blast it into smithereens…

At first it had been a huge relief talking to Sirius, but then at the end their conversation went downhill, leaving him just as disheartened and angry as before. Sirius hadn't really listened, he had no idea how awful Umbridge was even without what she was doing to him in detention. It was his own fault he supposed, perhaps he hadn't properly explained what she was like, nor had he explained what the rest of the school was like, how awful it felt to be the single most disliked and outright hated person around.

Collecting his things, and resisting the temptation to stomp on the mirror, Harry snatched his Firebolt from the ground. Storming across the pitch he made his way to the Gryffindor change rooms and went to his locker, finding his Quidditch uniform waiting there for him. He swiftly changed into his clothes and shoved his belongings back into the locker, and then he slammed it shut as hard as he could.

Ron would be down there soon, and Harry needed to hold it together. His friends had already put up with enough from him over the summer, especially Ron who never complained about the occasions he was woken up by Harry having a bad dream. This morning was about Ron, about preparing him for his first training session and being there for him...Harry couldn't let his problems bother him yet again.

Angrier than he had felt in weeks Harry kicked his locker for good measure, and then stormed out onto the Quidditch pitch.


	30. Chapter 30 - Fudge's Circuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30 - Fudge's Circuit

December brought with it an abrupt change of weather, the dull conditions of autumn turning into a bleak winter in a matter of days. The selection of food served by the House-Elves evolved with the season, hearty stews and broths complementing the selection of roasted meats and vegetables, and warm, frothy butterbeers available at Sunday dinners once again. But the delicious food was never quite enough to negate the harsh conditions they faced outdoors, the students still voyaging across the grounds to the greenhouses or Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures.

Over three months had passed since the morning Harry had talked to Sirius out on the Quidditch pitch, receiving the less than helpful advice that he should simply learn how to live with Umbridge. Since then he had somehow managed to settle in to a new way of life, adjusting to the changes both big and small that were brought on by Voldemort's return and Fudge's denial of it.

As best he possibly could, Harry had indeed learned to live under the watchful eye of Umbridge. He kept his mouth shut just like Sirius told him to, not allowing himself to rise every time she provoked him, every time she set out to punish or make him miserable. After his return Hagrid had been promptly put on probation, while Harry and the twins had been banned from Quidditch…while, as sadistic as the blood quill Umbridge had made him use was, it had proven effective in deterring him from speaking out against anything, even Voldemort.

Despite his dislike of the cold conditions, Harry would have given anything to be following Ron and the rest of the team out into the morning fog and rain for Quidditch training.

Thankfully the scrutiny and ridicule from his classmates had settled down by the second week of term. As everyone got into the swing of normal school life most of them seemed to lose interest in him, though on occasion certain students went out of their way to gossip about or openly laugh at him. Thanks for their efforts Harry remained the school pariah, forcing him to lower his expectations of anyone. He no longer expected people to believe him, or even treat him with common decency, despite the fact that they had believed him and Dumbledore last June.

Ron and Hermione had remained ever steadfastly by his side, proving him their blind loyalty just as they had promised him last June, the morning when they sat with him at Cedric's memorial. They had been wholly on his side, while Harry did his utmost best to repay them the favour by helping Ron with Quidditch as best he could, and supporting Hermione's ongoing efforts with S.P.E.W…except for the wearing of the badge, of course. To his relief they had both agreed he was bullied enough without wearing a badge that said _spew_.

And, despite his initial bouts of envy, Harry was proud that Ron and Hermione had been selected as Prefects. They often had to duck away for Prefect duties, which suited Harry in that it gave him some much needed down time to be alone. In hindsight he was grateful for whatever reason Dumbledore didn't pick him as Prefect, for the job would have ben awful given the way the school treated him right now. But, he did enjoy hearing their complaints about the job, especially Ron's.

'I know we were idiots in first year, but we weren't stupid, right?'

'No,' Harry said with absolute certainty. 'But these ones are,' he added supportively, for this wasn't the first time Ron had complained about the younger students.

'And they're rude. We were probably stupid, but we weren't rude to the Prefects.'

'Well, except to Percy.'

Ron shook his head. 'Doesn't count. He had it coming.'

Despite their additional responsibilities and weekly meetings, Harry was quite glad to have two Prefects as his best friends. It meant having back up that wielded a certain amount of power, which after a while had begun deterring people from giving Harry a hard time, at least while in the company of Ron and Hermione.

Besides, their role as Perfects certainly proved beneficial to them all on a personal level - at least where the DA came in to play. Bringing together twenty or so students two nights a week occasionally proved tricky, particularly where teachers and other Prefects were concerned, but Ron and Hermione's late curfew allowed them to be out in the corridors, pretending to escort other students back from the _library_ or a _study group_ that had run late.

Naturally Harry had been resistant to the idea of forming the DA in the first place, certain that there would be no one in Hogwarts genuinely interested in learning from him. He had shied away from it almost entirely, convinced that the people who showed up to their first meeting in the Hogs Head would only be interested in gawking at the school freak.

But after a few uncomfortable minutes in which Harry talked down what he had done as quickly as Hermione talked it up, the group at large seemed to reach an understanding. None of them could stand Umbridge in the slightest, and even if they weren't completely certain they believed Harry they did want to learn from him. And so the DA had been formed, quickly named Dumbledore's Army during their very first meeting.

In the ten weeks since their first meeting everything had been running smoothly, and Harry glowed with pride and satisfaction as he watched the members succeeding. It quickly became the one shining light in life, the powerful secret that allowed him to start getting through Umbridge's classes without losing his temper. Any time she gave him a sneering smile or made a comment he simply turned his mind to the DA, remembering their successes and planning the next lessons.

By and large Harry was leading a relatively straightforward life at school, remaining impervious to the subtle efforts of some to laugh at or ridicule him, the DA providing a mental refuge and source of relief from his problems. But not unexpectedly three Slytherins in particularly went out of their way to make his life miserable. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle seemed particularly insulted that their fathers had been accused of involvement in Voldemort's supposed return, and took every opportunity to loudly declare Harry to be a lunatic. And though he tried to ignore them and rise above their childish antics, every comment they made struck him hard.

Lingering in the back of his mind was one thought that was too awful to dwell on, forcing him to keep it in the deepest recesses of his mind. Yet every time he laid his eyes on someone like Malfoy he felt his heart rate pick up, humiliation rising within him. It was the knowledge that unless they seriously mistrusted their sons, Lucius Malfoy and others would have relished in telling them about Harry Potter's imprisonment.

No doubt that had to be the case with Draco Malfoy, for he never missed an opportunity to torment Harry, and it was thanks to his efforts that the Potter Stinks badges had made a resurgence. But more sinister than that were the sly comments and innuendo - small interactions that made Harry absolutely certain that Draco knew what had happened to him. Things had culminated after the first Quidditch game when Gryffindor beat Slytherin, and after Harry and the twins were banned he and his mates became even bolder with their antagonising.

'Shame you couldn't stay the whole summer, Potter,' Malfoy had hissed at him, shoving past as they made their way out of Potions class one Monday. 'I'd have shown you around my father's private garden.'

Malfoy chortled as he set off down the corridor, flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle. They glanced back at him to see his reaction while Hermione pleaded with him to not respond, to ignore them. Ron however, couldn't take it lying down.

'Come back and say it louder, tossers!'

Undeterred, Malfoy didn't yet let up. 'Please, I'll do whatever you say!' he said loudly, putting on a falsely scared voice before trailing off in laughter. 'I can't take any more!'

It was this comment that pushed Harry over the edge, that set his blood boiling. This was perhaps his greatest fear realised, confirmation that Malfoy had more than a passing knowledge of what had been done to him in that cellar. His comments were practically verbatim to Harry's own memories of the torture he'd endured, the way he had broken so quickly and pleaded for relief, begging Lucius Malfoy to stop.

_'I can't take any more. I'll do whatever you want. Please…'_

Humiliated yet again Harry had finally let himself do what he'd been holding back for months. Slipping his wand into his schoolbag he dumped it in the middle of the corridor and set off. He shouted Malfoy's name as Ron fell into step beside him, always having his back and he too itching for a confrontation.

Malfoy turned around, his laughter falling away into a sneer when he saw Harry coming. He looked pleased that after months of antagonising he was finally getting the reaction he wanted, that his enemy could take it no more.

'Going to beg me to stop?' Malfoy taunted him, not caring that the corridor was crowded with people, nor that his very taunting words might give Harry's story the slightest amount of credibility.

Marching right up to him Harry looked Malfoy in the eye, hands clenched into fists by his side. Behind him he heard Hermione calling his name, pleading with him to stand down, but he was too far gone by now.

'You want to do this, Malfoy?' he asked quietly, unafraid of any consequences. 'Come on then.'

'A duel?' Malfoy smirked, looking to Crabbe and Goyle either side of him.

Harry shook his head. 'No, a fight. Just you and me, no wands. Can't you take me?'

To his immense satisfaction, Malfoy hesitated. A wizarding duel didn't daunt him, but a fist fight? 'You're not worth the bruises to my knuckles, Potter.'

Harry sneered right back at him. 'Your pathetic father couldn't take me either,' he smirked, not bothering to keep his voice lowered. 'He was shitting himself when he saw what I could do without a wand.'

Satisfied enough for today Harry turned to walk away, and it was then Malfoy struck. Really he ought to have expected a cowardly punch, for it wasn't the first time Malfoy had attacked when his back was turned. He hit Harry on the side of the head, hard enough to make him stumble, but he had enough senses left to whirl around and charge at Malfoy with the force of his whole body.

Shoving him back Harry drew his fist and punched him hard in the face once, and then twice. There was no chance to get a third punch in, Ron and Seamus had leapt on him and wrenched him away, bringing the fight to a swift but satisfying end.

Malfoy slumped into a heap on the floor, clutching his bloodied nose as Harry snatched up his bag and departed. None of the other Slytherins dared to even comment, not even Crabbe and Goyle, allowing Harry to pass by without further incident. Once they were shot of all of them Seamus made a very hasty departure. He avoided any whispered conversation about the things Malfoy had said, lest he be forced to acknowledge any evidence that Harry might have been telling the truth.

'You guys go ahead,' Harry muttered before they reached the Great Hall for lunch. 'I just, err…bathroom.'

Neither Ron nor Hermione believed him, but when Harry gave them a furtive look they seemed to understand his need to be left alone, for they let him be. Hoisting his schoolbag more securely over his shoulder he set off and made his way to the boys bathroom, knowing he was likely to find them unoccupied given lunch had just started.

Relieved to find the bathroom empty Harry slipped into the furtherest cubicle and locked himself inside, breathing a sigh of relief upon finding privacy. But his sigh of relief began to change. When he tried to draw breath he felt his chest tightening, his mind racing against the intrusive thoughts that invaded his head. He'd felt this coming on the moment Ron and Seamus had pulled him off Malfoy, he knew what was going to happen.

Unable to do anything to stop it, Harry's hands began to shake, and soon enough his whole body was trembling as he paced back and forth inside the small cubicle. Inside his chest his heart raced painfully fast, his mind telling him that something was terribly wrong - that Malfoy was coming back for him this minute - that it was over for him now. His listened anxiously for the sound of approaching footsteps, waiting for them to show up.

_'You will obey me.'_

_'Yes!' he cried out. 'Yes - please, stop!'_

Clearing his throat Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face, trying to pull himself together. This time whatever was happening seemed to pass quickly, his only consolation was that at least it had been triggered by something that made sense, Malfoy. That's what it had been the first time he felt this, when he unexpectedly saw Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry in August.

It had happened again since his return to Hogwarts, coming completely out of the blue every couple of weeks, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to stop it. It was unfounded panic without cause, the absolute certainty that something was about to happen and he could stop if it he just did something…but he didn't know what he needed to do. Last time this had happened it came out of no where when he was sitting in the Common Room, an alarming sense of dread forcing him to retreat upstairs to the dormitory so no one knew how cracked in the head he really was.

Hastily trying to sort himself out he opened his clenched fist and stared at his empty palm, forcing himself to concentrate all his efforts. A few moments later a ball of light began to bloom, illuminating the bathroom stall and giving him something to focus his attention on.

It was on Sirius's advice that he made a renewed effort to learn wandless magic. He'd been intrigued by the idea that he might be able to do it without the pressure of fighting for his life enabling him to perform the feat. He kept it entirely to himself, unwilling to raise any topic that might lead back to talking about what happened to him last June. Instead he had quietly gone about honing the skill, finding it wasn't as simple as concentrating intensely, but rather took a frustrating amount of practice.

It had taken some time, and such intense concentration that Ron had asked if he was feeling ill, but finally he'd managed to do wandless magic beyond the mere conjuring of light. By now he could conjure light, levitate objects that weren't too heavy and perform a trip jinx, which he had taken great pleasure in practicing on certain people like Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

Finally managing to catch his breath Harry felt his face flush red with embarrassment, ashamed that he couldn't hold himself together over something so stupid. Malfoy was being an arsehole because of course he was - he had nothing else. Feeling the panicked thoughts pass and his heart rate return to normal Harry had extinguisheded the ball of light and left the bathroom. He needed to get on with his day, and so he put it all out of his mind again, trying not to think about the new spate of cubicle graffiti targeted at him.

Finally they had reached the last week of term, and with only three days left of classes Harry found that for the first time ever he didn't want to spend Christmas at Hogwarts. This year he was going to the Burrow for Christmas break, and had received the assurance that he could also spend a few days at Grimmauld Place too. It wasn't an unreasonable request in his opinion, that Sirius needn't spend Christmas alone.

Harry and Sirius had been in somewhat regular contact, speaking over the mirrors on a few occasions. At first Harry had felt hurt by Sirius's response to Umbridge, that he should simply learn to live with her, but he had been vindicated when Sirius found out about the DA.

As if making up for the Umbridge thing he had been wildly supportive from the very start, though he had been sure to deliver the message to Ron from his parents. The DA was now the current talking subject when they did contact one another through the mirror, Sirius giving advice on the lessons they had planned and spells Harry should look up.

On the final Wednesday before the end of term Harry came down to the Common Room with his schoolbag over his shoulder. Complaining that he was starving Ron had gone on ahead to breakfast alone, while Harry was waiting for Neville to finish getting ready up in the dormitory. Down in the common room he was met with the usual flurry of fellow Gryffindors getting ready for the day, and he dodged a paper aeroplane that Dennis Creevey accidentally threw towards him.

There were a dozen or so people crowded around the wireless radio, and though Harry was going to ignore it (for when did hearing the news ever benefit him?), Fred and George were listening. They had seen him coming downstairs, perhaps having been waiting for his arrival, and Fred ushered him over.

A little reluctant, Harry came over and stood at Fred's side, automatically veering towards a friendly face despite the fact that Gryffindors didn't outright give him a hard time. But over the radio came a voice he associated with quite the opposite, Cornelius Fudge, and he gave Fred a look of exasperation to question why he had brought him over for this.

'Sorry,' he muttered. 'Figured you ought'a know what he's up to.'

'…highly specialised program, one that has been in development at St Mungos for a number of years now. The Ministry of Magic is proud to be funding the majority of the budget for this program and will continue to do so, with fixed annual increases to be voted on by Wizengamot as early as next month.'

'And what do you say to criticisms that this program, while long awaited, is partially funded by the Malfoy family?'

'I take no issue to that at all,' Fudge said proudly. 'The Malfoy family have been generous donors to St Mungos for several decades, and they remain dedicated to the betterment of our society.'

'But surely you can understand the discomfort of some witches and wizards,' the interviewer pressed, trying to get something more. 'After all, the accusations were-'

'Unsubstantiated rumours. If we must talk about this instead of the important work from St Mungos, let me just say that there have always been those who wish to disrupt the status quo for their own personal gain. It disappoints me that after all our years of friendship Albus Dumbledore seeks to disrupt things, and worse still that he bring an innocent boy into the fray with him.

'Why I wouldn't be surprised if in five months Dumbledore suddenly declares he himself has single handedly defeated You Know Who and saved us all. Mark my words, that's his agenda. I just hope he doesn't continue to drag poor Harry Potter through the mud with him. He's a sweet child really, and it's terribly sad he's been so manipulated…'

Not needing to hear anymore Harry just turned away, ignoring the faces of his fellow Gryffindors who suddenly seemed rather skeptical of him. Fortunately Neville came down from the dormitory, apologising that he had forgotten some books. They left quickly and hurried down to the Great Hall, and all the while Harry couldn't help but seethe with anger on the inside.

_He's a sweet child really, and its terribly sad he's been so manipulated…_

Fudge's comments about him irked Harry to no end, almost as much as the knowledge that the Malfoy's were still very much in his pocket.

Though at the time he had understood why Dumbledore wanted him to do it, in hindsight Harry regretted that he had ever given a formal statement to Madam Bones and Scrimgeour. It didn't matter that it had been the catalyst for a formal investigation, months had passed and nothing had come of it except problems. That he had made a formal statement to the Ministry had since become public knowledge, and rather than giving him any credibility it seemed to open him up to further ridicule…ridicule those like Lucius Malfoy and Umbridge were stoking.

When he and Neville passed through the Entrance Hall Harry averted his eyes, not allowing himself to look at the spot just to the left of the Great Hall doors. Cedric's memorial had been formed there, and last June it had been overflowing with flowers, trinkets and candles. Over the summer Harry had thought of it on occasion, dreading that he would have to see it again. But what Harry had been met with was worse by far - the memorial was gone.

Just like what happened on the Quidditch pitch was erased there was little evidence a memorial for someone had ever stood there in the first place. Only occasionally did Harry see flowers laid out, or a photograph fixed to the stone wall…he hated seeing the space so void and empty, making him feel as if the school had forgotten Cedric already. He hated looking at the empty space as much as he had dreaded seeing the memorial again...he didn't know which was worse.

'Did you hear what's on the radio?' Harry asked, sitting next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table. Opposite them sat Ron, who looked up in interest. 'Fudge?'

Hermione made a sound of disapproval, straightening her newspaper as she read over her cereal. 'They've been playing that interview all morning.'

'Apparently I'm a sweet child with baseless accusations,' Harry explained to Ron.

Ron scoffed, turning back to his breakfast. 'That's a load of dung. Nothin' sweet about you, mate.'

Hermione passed him a page from the newspaper, one featuring Fudge's statement and a headline about St Mungos. 'He's been doing the rounds of all the media for about a week now,' she said grimly. 'Last week he was in Witch Weekly, a two page spread all about how great the Ministry's doing and how wonderful he is.'

'Witch Weekly? Harry questioned, scanning his eyes over the newspaper. 'Politics isn't quite their style.'

'Read a lot of Witch Weekly?' Ron teased, passing Harry a mug of coffee after refilling his own.

'We must give Fudge credit,' Hermione said loftily, holding out her own mug for a refill too. 'He knows exactly what he's doing.'

Still scanning the newspaper, Harry came across his own name in the article and had to agree. 'He's confrontational about Dumbledore, but not about me. Says it's not my fault what Dumbledore's doing.'

'He's making himself look sympathetic, even as he discredits you and attacks Dumbledore. Yes, he's very good at what he does.'

Though he tried not to, for really it just bothered him more than it helped, Harry turned to look up at the high table where Dumbledore sat. As usual the Headmaster was looking anywhere and everywhere by the Gryffindor table, and once more resentment grew inside him. Lately he didn't need any more reason to resent Dumbledore's coldness, but the more press coverage like this continued the more Harry begrudged Dumbledore's apparent lack of effort to dispute it.

'Sweet child, am I…' Harry muttered darkly, giving the page back to Hermione.

Trying not to show it, for it was already hard enough for Ron and Hermione to put up with his bad moods, Harry stomach churned in disgust. Maybe he would get the opportunity to show Fudge how sweet he could really be. As he ate breakfast he let his mind wander, imagining the long awaited day in which Fudge would fall from grace. Voldemort wouldn't hide forever. Despite the implications of that, Harry found himself looking forward to Voldemort's public return just to see Fudge's blundering reaction.

The man was a blithering fool, there was no doubt about that...but he really did know what he was doing when it came to politics. Looking around the table Harry began to take notice of his fellow students avidly reading the newspaper, someone perusing a copy of Witch Weekly over their Cheeri-Owls. Newspapers, magazines, radio...they were all hearing Fudge's side of the story everywhere they went. No one was hearing Harry's.

Perhaps he didn't have to wait for Voldemort's return to do something. Maybe instead, it was time to sink to his enemy's level.

Feeling Hermione nudge him Harry looked around, his heart sinking when he saw McGonagall making her way towards them. Did she somehow know he hadn't yet finished his homework? Had his last piece earned him the dreaded T that somehow seemed inevitable? But when she made it to his side her face seemed rather soft and concerned, not at all like she was about to scold him.

'Mr Potter,' she began, keeping her voice low so that only Ron and Hermione could hear. Across the table Ron lowered his knife and fork and leant over, his tie falling into his eggs. 'The Auror office have requested that they see you in my office this morning, during morning break.'

Harry looked at her in surprise. No matter their reason, he found he never wanted to talk to anyone from the Ministry again. It had been hard to speak with Madam Bones and make a formal statement, but harder still to push all the memories back into the deepest recesses of his memory after. It felt like he had just finally managed to do that, to push it all away again...he wasn't keen on being asked to bring it back up.

He glanced at Ron and Hermione. He didn't need to ask what it was about. 'Professor, are you asking me, or telling me?'

'Asking you,' McGonagall said simply, and clearly she sympathised with him. 'I'll not force you to speak to anyone you don't want to speak to.'

'Who is it?'

'Rufus Scrimgeour and Kingsley Shacklebolt. If you wish to decline I can make any number of reasonable excuses on your behalf.'

Grateful she was at least giving him ample opportunity to say no, Harry again looked at the Head table. Still Dumbledore was ignoring him, though he would be perfectly aware of who was coming to talk to him. If there was any reason that he shouldn't Dumbledore would not have even allowed Harry to be asked in the first place. But still, he was tempted to refuse in the vain hope that it might get Dumbledore's attention. After all, Dumbledore himself was the one who wanted Harry to make a statement to the Ministry in the first place.

'Any chance we can do it earlier than break?' he asked hopefully, having hoped to finish his Transfiguration homework, with McGonagall's class immediately after.

'And withdraw you from morning class?' McGonagall said reproachfully.

'It's only Divination.'

She looked tempted, but only for a moment. 'I mustn't. So that's a yes?'

Glancing at the Head table for a third time, Harry nodded his head. Satisfied, McGonagall thanked him softly and then swept out of the Great Hall, no doubt heading back to her office to confirm he would attend the appointment. Dreading the rest of the day Harry turned back to his breakfast and then pushed it away, having lost his appetite.

What were they playing at springing this on him at the last minute? Perhaps they wisely knew that if he had much time to think about it he would have declined speaking to them again, at least not until he got to speak to Sirius. Their two-way mirror was in the pocket of his schoolbag, he carried it with him everywhere...but there wouldn't be enough time to find a private spot and speak to him. The bell had already rung to signal the start of the school day, and around him the last remaining students were rising from the tables and collecting their things.

Doing the same thing Harry slung his bag over his shoulder, and a sucker for punishment he looked up to Dumbledore again.

'Here,' said Hermione, slipping her Transfiguration homework into his school bag. 'If you're lucky, you can finish in Divination.'

Harry smiled, his heart lifting with the small relief. 'Thank you.'

'Just don't let McGonagall see you giving it back to me,' she said, hurrying off to Arithmancy while he and Ron headed up towards Trelawney's tower.

Divination class was the usual case of hot, stuffy classroom and Trelawney's ridiculous predictions, though to his mixed relief and horror Professor Umbridge was sitting in on the class again, evaluating the teacher on probation. While on one hand Umbridge's mere proximity made his blood boil, it at least tempered Trelawney a little, and when she was inspected she was more likely to leave them to their own devices. Taking full advantage of that Harry opened his copy of Unfogging the Future and slipped his scroll of parchment inside, finishing his Transfiguration homework under the guise of reading the text book.

They were supposed to be studying interpretations of the snake in fortune telling, Trelawney droning on about how the shedding of the skin represented rebirth and rejuvenation. Listening in the back of his mind Harry rather felt the subject was a little too on the nose for his interest, that a snake might be associated with rebirth. Nagini had been there at Voldemort's rebirth, and thereafter too. And yet as if she knew how much the subject annoyed him Trelawney kept circling back to snakes.

As always enticed by the warmth and darkness of this classroom, Harry felt himself struggling to keep his eyes open. He hadn't slept well last night, and Divination was the worst class to start the day with when tired. Blinking to rouse himself he kept at his Transfiguration homework, casting the occasional glance up to check that he hadn't attracted the attention of Trelawney or Umbridge.

But against his will he was nodding off, feeling himself rushing away as if falling down a long, dark hole. There was no helping him, the comfortable envelopment of sleep was far too tempting. He dreamt of Nagini, baring her fangs and rubbing up against his neck as she did in Malfoy Manor. She slithered past him, returning to Voldemort who stroked her tenderly, whispering to her in Parsletongue...

_Tonight_.

He was striding down a dimly lit corridor, one he had seen many times before - and there it was…the door at the end. It drew nearer as his heart began to race in anticipation. Excitement flooded through him.

When he roused Harry blinked stupidly, looking around in embarrassment - but if he had fallen asleep it seemed no one had noticed it. Mentally shaking off the day dream he used his wand to siphon off smudges of ink that had dripped from the end of his quill, and after another quick glance around he resumed his homework. Beside him Ron was scrawling notes into the margins of both their dream diaries, while Trelawney had begun prowling around to review. Neither had noticed that Harry had nodded off.

'It's alright mate, I'll do all the work," Ron joked under his breath.

'I was tortured, I deserve to slack off.'

Ron rolled his eyes. 'That's your January.'

'What?' Harry whispered in dismay. 'I haven't used that all month!'

'Herbology, a week ago. Who had to do the dragon dung alone because your forgot your gloves?'

Harry sighed, but he didn't hasten to help Ron with the dreams. 'I was hoping you'd forgotten about that. Fine, this is January.'

'You're going to regret it. Mum's got work for us when we go home, including the ghoul in the attic.'

'What do we have to do with the ghoul?'

'He starting to smell again. One of us has to get up there with the hose.'

Harry just grinned, not at all concerned. 'Your mum wouldn't make me do that. She still feels sorry for me.'

As Trelawney grew closer and Umbridge got up and also began making the rounds, Harry figured it was time to give up on his Transfiguration homework. Packing it away he took his dream diary back from Ron and began reading the notes he had made, but his attention was focused on McGonagall, wondering how he was going to explain his half written homework.

There came a loud shriek from Trelawney, and Harry who was well used to her cries of horror upon reading a student's future was not alarmed. He glanced up to see Nearly Headless Nick had emerged through the floor, looking rather affronted that he had received such an unwelcoming reception. One of the curtains was now on fire, Pavarti hastening to put it out while Trelawney collected herself from the fright.

'So sorry to be a bother,' Nearly Headless Nick said, his tone overly polite. 'But I'm here to fetch Mr Potter.'

Umbridge's head whipped around to Harry, her eyes wide in interest. 'On whose behest?'

'Professor McGonagall's,' Nick answered, looking as though he had expected this enquiry.

Beside him Ron gave a great sigh. 'You lucky bastard.'

Despite what he was being pulled out of class for, Harry grinned. 'You wanna talk to the Aurors?' he whispered, hastily throwing his belongings into his school bag before Umbridge could do anything to delay him.

'Not in a million years,' Ron said, slouching on his pouffe and scowling at his dream diary.

Without saying a single word to Trelawney or Umbridge, Harry slung his schoolbag onto his shoulder and headed for the trap door, mentally giving thanks to Professor McGonagall for pulling him out of class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers - a long chapter with a lot of information to take in, and a few little pieces to weave in there, but I hope it was enjoyable. Please leave a review and let me know if you enjoyed. Next chapter, Scrimgeour again, a chapter I really enjoyed writing.


	31. Chapter 31 - Scrimgeour's Inquiry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 31 - Scrimgeour's Inquiry

The moment Harry closed the trapdoor above himself he wished for the opportunity to return to Divination after all, given the alternative he was now facing. To his relief Nearly Headless Nick made only polite small talk as they descended the spiral staircase together and then parted ways, saying something about needing to check on what Peeves was getting up to.

As he set off down the corridor he felt his heart beginning to race already, getting that familiar tightening sensation in his chest. Willing it to go away Harry forced himself to take a few deep breaths, angrily telling himself to keep it together. He really didn't want to do this, and would much rather be in Divination now he was actually faced with the meeting…but he had to do it. Last August he had agreed to set this whole investigation into motion, he didn't have the right to refuse further help if they came to him for it.

Slowing to a stop Harry paused, looking over his shoulder. Coming behind him was the sound of footsteps, though this area of the castle ought to be deserted but for the students coming and going from Trelawney's tower. For a few moments he stood there and listened to the footsteps, noting how sharp and hard they sounded against the stone floor...how short the person's stride was.

This wasn't paranoia…

Realising Umbridge must be following he broke into a run, almost immediately hearing the footsteps picking up pace. It must have irked her to have McGonagall pulling him out of class without knowing why, and the mystery of it probably fuelled the inane idea that there was a plot going on between himself and Dumbledore, perhaps even McGonagall too.

Confident Umbridge stood no chance of catching up to him, particularly in those stupid pink shoes she wore, Harry just put as much distance between them as he could. There was no doubt she knew where to find him, that he would most likely be heading to McGonagall's office. But as to the nature of their meeting she would be in the dark, and Harry would very much like to keep it that way. Lately he was flying under the radar when it came to Umbridge, and it had been making life a little more bearable.

Waiting in the corridor outside McGonagall's office was Mr Weasley, and though he looked pleased at first to see Harry his features swiftly became alarmed.

'Harry! Why are you out of breath? What's wrong?'

Having slowed his run one corridor ago he took a moment to catch his breath, pushing his fringe back off his face as he glanced over his shoulder. 'Umbridge followed me,' he panted, worried that she had caught up to him after all. 'She was inspecting my class.'

'Well not to worry,' Mr Weasley assured him, giving him a quick hug in greeting. 'This meeting is perfectly allowable, it doesn't have to be a secret. Now since I came to your last meeting with Madam Bones they've invited me to join you again, if that's alright with you.'

Harry nodded, still feeling a little distracted by Umbridge. But she was nowhere to be seen. 'Yeah…that's fine.'

'Now remember, Harry - you're not to know Kingsley other than having met him in the first interview.'

'Yeah. This must mean the investigation's still going, right?'

Mr Weasley looked at him apologetically. 'I'm afraid it's rather slow going. But yes, they're making progress.'

Harry nodded again, and unable to resist the urge he looked over his shoulder again, just waiting for Umbridge to come around the corner and figure out what he was up to. His heart was still racing, he could barely catch his breath, and so he stalled for a few moments. Fiddling with the clasp on his schoolbag he tried to buy himself some time, but Mr Weasley waited with absolute patience, not pushing him in the slightest. He glanced at the door to McGonagall's office, dreading what awaited on the other side.

Unable to delay any more Harry politely knocked on McGonagall's door, entering when she opened it and invited them both in. Her office was larger than he remembered it, perhaps expanding to accommodate extra visitors today. The sitting area by the fireplace now had a coffee table and two large couches from which Kingsley and Scrimgeour were getting to their feet. But Harry ignored them, already looking over his shoulder again for Umbridge.

Immediately sensing something was wrong, McGonagall swooped on him. 'What is it, Potter?'

He hesitated, feeling foolish. 'Umbridge is following me here. She was inspecting Trelawney.'

Scrimgeour was approaching now, extending his hand. 'She can't do anything to hinder an Auror investigation,' he said shortly, shaking Harry's hand. 'Nice to see you again, Mr Potter.'

Harry didn't return the greeting. Instead, he made a split second decision. 'I'm not talking to you if she knows about it.'

There was an awkward pause now, and when Harry glanced at McGonagall and Mr Weasley he was relieved to see that they both seemed to understand. In the background Kingsley headed for the door as he drew his wand.

'Not to worry, Mr Potter,' he said kindly. 'She'll soon forget what she came down here for.'

As Kingsley departed to take care of Umbridge, McGonagall ushered them all into the sitting area by the roaring fireplace. Harry took a seat on the couch beside Mr Weasley, while Scrimgeour sat opposite. A tray of tea and ginger nut biscuits were set out for them, but when McGonagall offered them around Harry declined, beginning to feeling too nervous to eat or drink. The nerves had hit him quite suddenly thanks to Umbridge throwing him off.

'Why the concern about Dolores Umbridge?' Scrimgeour enquired. 'She does not have the authority to hinder our investigation, no matter how much she'd like to.'

'She can't do anything to you, but she can do a lot to me,' he said bluntly, looking over at Professor McGonagall. 'I'm trying to avoid her attention.'

Nodding, Scrimgeour clasped his hands on his knees and looked towards the door, unable to start until Kingsley returned. 'How's your OWL year treating you?'

'Busy.'

An awkward silence fell, and it was a relief, allowing Harry to collect his thoughts. The four of them waited silently until Kingsley returned a few minutes later, giving Harry a reassuring nod that he had dealt with Umbridge. Satisfied they were ready to start McGonagall excused herself, for which Harry was grateful. He didn't need anyone else hearing about what happened to him.

Scrimgeour, who had started to look impatient, got right to it.

'Mr Potter, we're here as we'd like you to go on the record and make an additional statement regarding the events of June twenty fourth and twenty fifth. We'd like you to review a series of photographs and formally identify anyone who may have had involvement in the events of those dates.'

It was now Harry noticed a leather bound folder on the couch next to Scrimgeour, one he then placed on the coffee table between them. For a few moments Harry looked at it in trepidation, glancing up at Mr Weasley to seek reassurance that this was all above board, that he needed to do this.

'Okay.'

The instant he registered his agreement a typewriter appeared out of thin air, hovering a few feet away, and when Scrimgeour spoke it began typing a transcript.

'Mr Potter, I am obliged to remind you that this is an offical proceeding with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Your statement will be recorded for an official transcript, and if any statement you make is proven untruthful you could be charged with making a false statement. You can leave this meeting at any time, and you do not have to answer my questions if you don't wish to. Do you understand those conditions?'

'Yes.'

'Is it your intention to tell the truth today?'

'Yes.'

Just as they had at the Ministry last August each of those present stated their names for the transcript, Harry feeling a sense of deja vu, but was unable to really register the fact that he was in this position again, once more talking about what had happened to him.

When they were ready to proceed Scrimgeour gestured to the the leather bound folder onto the coffee table, inviting Harry to open it. 'I'd like you to look through that folder, and tell me if you recognise anyone there associated with the crimes you reported.'

Harry looked at the folder for a moment, taking note that both Scrimgeour and Kingsley were keen to hear what he had to say...he had a captive audience.

'I have to say, this is a little out of the blue,' he commented, stalling a little. 'Just this morning I got to hear Fudge saying my accusations against Lucius Malfoy were baseless. You seem to believe me.'

'I believe evidence,' Scrimgeour said shortly.

'Evidence I gave you.' He paused, glancing at Mr Weasley who seemed confused by his stalling. 'I want to know why you believe me.'

Scrimgeour seemed a little annoyed by Harry's persistent questions, and he gave him a long hard look. After a few moments he finally answered, sitting back in the chair as his expression became a little friendlier.

'When Sirius Black escaped Azkaban, the Minister for Magic barely left my office for weeks. Gave my department all the funding and resources we could dream of. But this time after a school student is dead and another is reporting serious crimes the Minister didn't think it warranted my attention.'

Harry nodded, beginning to understand.

'Politicians are not all that complicated, Mr Potter. Now, if you don't mind,' he prompted, gesturing to the folder again. 'Take your time.'

Accepting the explanation Harry opened the folder and was confronted with a series of photographs, twelve to each sheet of parchment. Trying to acquaint himself with the sheer volume of he quickly flicked through the rest of them, trying to get his head around it all. The numbered photographs of various people on each parchment page seemed vaguely similar to one another, and feeling as though he was missing something Harry studied the first page carefully, trying to recognise someone.

Feeling the pressure of everyone watching him he turned to the next page, and then his eyes immediately fell to someone he recognised. He stared at the photograph intently, casting his eyes at the others just to be certain of himself…but there was no mistake.

'Number fifteen,' he said with absolute certainty. 'That's Carrow.'

'You recognise that person?' Kingsley confirmed, before pressing him for more information. 'What were their interactions with you?'

Harry looked at the picture, remembering Carrow's face with absolute clarity, able to perfectly recall the sound of his taunting laughter. 'I already told you, he tortured me.'

'How? Be specific.'

'The Cruciatus Curse.'

'Tell me everything you can remember,' Kingsley instructed.

At this Harry paused in exasperation. Hadn't he already done that? 'He only did it once. It started slow, and it would get worse and worse until…' He trailed off awkwardly, not wanting to say what he was thinking. _Until he was pleading with Carrow for relief…until he wanted to die._

'Did it last longer or less than one minute?'

'Longer.'

'What else?'

Harry shrugged, not remembering much else from Carrow. 'When I took Malfoy's wand he tried to get it back off me. He was there. The whole time.'

Making a point of it, Harry turned the page and looked through more pictures, relieved when they didn't press him about Carrow any further. For a moment he lingered on the fourth page, vaguely recognising someone there, but he continued onto the fifth page.

'Crabbe,' he said shortly, pointing him out. 'He was there.'

'For the transcript, please state the number of the person you're identifying.'

'Fifty three. He didn't torture me, but I remember him being there. I saw his face a few times. Goyle was there too, I heard them talking to him…but I don't know what Goyle looks like.'

'Did either of those men torture you?'

'Not that I remember. But they were. They were definitely there.'

Continuing through the folder Harry pointed out five more Death Eaters he recognised; a woman who had pulled off her hood in the graveyard after Voldemort left, a man who had shouted for a turn at torturing him, and a further three who he recognised from the altercation in the drawing room.

When he came across the photo of Lucius Malfoy he had to hold back a smile, having almost missed him among the page of other fair haired men. He lingered on this photograph a few moments, taking vindictive pleasure in pointing him out and making an on the record accusation for a second time.

'Lucius Malfoy. One hundred and twenty nine.'

Despite his frustration with the necessity, Harry recited what Malfoy had done to him, the brutal extent of the torture he had suffered, and the threats made about Sirius and the Weasleys. Almost finished he turned back to the fourth page of photographs, studying the one that had felt familiar.

'Forty six looks familiar,' he commented. 'But he looked older when I saw him.'

'What was this person's involvement?'

'When they were figuring out what to do with me he was holding me against a wall. He took my robes, patted me down to make sure I didn't have anything else. Who is it?'

'We can't tell you anything about the people in these pictures,' Kingsley said apologetically. 'To give you any information beyond what you've provided us would be tainting your testimony.'

'I've already pointed him out.'

'Even so, I cannot give you his name.'

Now thoroughly annoyed Harry continued looking through the book one last time, certain there was one person he had to have missed. He studied every page carefully, taking as much time as he pleased, but he was forced to admit the final person he was looking for was not featured.

'Peter Pettigrew's not in here,' he commented, closing the folder with a sense of finality. 'He's the one who brought Voldemort back.'

'We don't have a recent photograph of him,' Kingsley answered. 'And an older photograph would not suffice.'

'Why not?'

'It's not necessary,' Kingsley assured him, gesturing back to the folder. 'Do you wish to continue?

Were it not Kingsley telling him this, Harry might have pushed it further. Instead he pushed the folder across the coffee table and shook his head, certain that he didn't recognise anyone else. 'There were more of them than that,' he said pointedly, wanting to be perfectly clear. 'I didn't see all their faces, but I heard them talking to each other, using names.'

Kingsley nodded. 'We have the list you gave us during your statement in August.'

'So what's happening with the investigation?' Harry asked, unable to accept the fact that Fudge was telling everyone his accusations were baseless. 'When are you arresting these people?'

It was Scrimgeour who spoke this time, having been largely quiet since the start. He turned to the typewriter that hovered behind them and addressed it. 'Erase that last. That concludes the interview.'

In an instant the typewriter disappeared with a puff of smoke, and the long scroll of parchment went soaring over to Scrimgeour who promptly began to roll it up. Harry waited expectantly, unwilling to let his question go unanswered, and after a few moments Scrimgeour answered.

'It's a slow process,' he said simply, signing the scroll and then passing it to Kingsley, who did the same. 'These things require strategy and time.'

'Do you really think we have the time?' Harry questioned, dissatisfied with this response. 'This is Voldemort we're talking about. He's already hurting people.'

'I'm well aware of what You Know Who is capable of,' Scrimgeour said, not sounding perturbed that Harry was openly questioning him. He stood up now, collecting the leather bound folder. 'Thank you, Harry.'

If only to be polite, Harry also stood and shook Kingsley's hand, then Scrimgeour's, but he studied the latter with scrutiny. He wanted to keep questioning him about what they were doing, to demand to know why they weren't as gung-ho as they should be. But instead what came out was -

'What's it like being an Auror?'

It was clear this question was unexpected, for Scrimgeour peered at him in surprise. His demeanour changed, and he seemed almost friendly. 'Have you got it on your mind as a career?'

'Dunno…' he said uncertainly, taken aback by his own question. 'First Auror I met was an imposter who tried to kill me. So the expectations are pretty low.'

'Mmm,' Scrimgeour nodded, looking at Kingsley with a grim smile before answering Harry's question. 'Well, of all professions being an Auror has the highest rates of injury, death, alcoholism and divorce. However, those of us who make it far enough through the training to even qualify could never imagine doing anything different.'

'Right.'

'You'll need exceptional OWLs and NEWTs, not to mention further years of study and training…but none of that is worth a damn if you don't really care about what you're doing.' Scrimgeour paused, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth. 'Do you think you'd care about it, Potter?'

Harry looked at him in surprise, having not expected that. The way Scrimgeour spoke took him by surprise, making him realise he actually knew very little about the Head of the Auror Department. Until now he had considered Scrimgeour just another Ministry idiot. But unless he was very good at knowing what people wanted to hear, Scrimgeour seemed invested...it wasn't something Harry had sensed from him the first time they had met.

'Would I care about catching Dark Wizards? Yeah, I think I'd care.'

Scrimgeour nodded shortly. 'Then the Auror department would benefit from having you. All the best, Mr Potter.'

Without any further fuss Kingsley and Scrimgeour departed, and once they were gone McGonagall returned, having been waiting outside. Harry only briefly glanced at her, glad that she hadn't joined them to listen to anything he had said. Looking for an excuse to avoid her he looked at his watch to see the time - it wouldn't be worth returning to Divination.

'Is it okay if I get an early start on break, Professor?'

McGonagall nodded. 'I can excuse you from the rest of your classes, if you'd like.'

Harry looked at her in surprise, wondering if she had lost her mind. McGonagall letting him off his classes? For a moment he was tempted to play on her sympathy to his advantage, knowing that despite her stern exterior she was very kind hearted.

'Thanks, but I think I've got some studying to do.'

Instead of departing Hogwarts right away Mr Weasley instead accompanied Harry through the castle, joining him as he made his way to the usual spot where he would meet up with Ron and Hermione before their next class, Transfiguration.

For a few minutes they walked in silence, Mr Weasley unsure of what to say, while Harry was wrapped up in his thoughts about what Scrimgeour had said. He hadn't planned on asking what it was like being an Auror. The notion had occurred to him last year, but only more seriously now.

'So, you're thinking of being an Auror?' Mr Weasley asked, breaking the silence.

'I dunno,' Harry answered without any sort of commitment either way. 'It's nice to know they're not all as scarred as Moody.'

'Well, if you're really keen on it don't let Scrimgeour put you off completely. They're not all divorced alcoholics,' he said lightly. 'Mad-Eye rarely drinks anything stronger than a Butterbeer, and Kingsley's been married thirteen years I think.'

'He didn't put me off,' he said thoughtfully. 'Before now I didn't get the impression that he cared all that much about what happened. I think I might have been wrong.'

As they walked through the corridors they passed some seventh year students who must be on a free period, and Harry's stomach squirmed in dread. It was Roger Davies and two others, students who had once been Cedric's friends and who previously Harry had gotten on well with. Even him being in the company of Mr Weasley didn't stop them. As they passed by they pressed their Support Cedric Diggory badges, turning them into Potter Stinks and sniggering at him.

Mr Weasley looked appalled, but to Harry's relief he didn't make a scene. But Harry didn't let it go, too wired up given what he had just been made to do, again. There was no need to draw his wand. He simply took his hand out of his pocket looked over his shoulder, focusing intently on Roger Davies. In an instant Roger stumbled over his own feet, flailing as he fell forward and landed heavily on his hands and knees. There was a loud clatter as his bag his the stone floor, bottles of ink haphazardly rolling away.

Confident it was by far his most successful trip-jinx Harry whirled around and kept walking. He didn't care that he had attacked someone when their back was turned, something that was more of a Draco Malfoy move than his own. In stride with Mr Weasley he kept going, quietly satisfied that he got his own…

'Does that happen much? Mr Weasley asked in concern, speaking quietly.

Harry ignored the question. 'The Death Eater I identified,' he enquired, still annoyed Kingsley wouldn't tell him their name. 'Do you know who it was?'

'Yes, I do,' Mr Weasley said grimly. 'Bernard Nott. I believe his son is a classmate of yours.'

Harry let out a low breath of relief. He had already identified Nott by name, and now had pointed him out not knowing who he was…surely that had to add credibility to his statement, that he had mentioned Nott by name and recognised his face.

This was the fourth time he had accused a classmate's parent of being a Death Eater. As a gnawing sensation grew in the pit of his stomach he dreaded what would happen if this got back to Theodore Nott. It was bad enough with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle having it out for him, he didn't need Nott too…sneaky trip jinxes would only get him so far against the Slytherins.

'Thanks for coming today.'

Mr Weasley just smiled, clasping Harry on the shoulder. 'There's no need to thank me, Harry. You know we'd never have you doing any of this on your own.'

'Have you been keeping up with Fudge's media tour?'

'Oh yes, he's on the circuit that's for sure. He's keeping the Daily Prophet very happy. Their funding went up quite substantially when the last budget passed.'

'Why can't Dumbledore do that?' he asked in frustration. 'Why can't he talk to the media like Fudge is?'

'Who would publish it, Harry?'

'The Quibbler. They'd publish anything.'

'Oh, did you see their latest piece about Sirius being Stubby Boardman?'

They had reached the courtyard where he would meet up with Ron and Hermione, slumping down at their usual spot and dumping his school bag on the ground. He didn't mind at all when Mr Weasley sat down with him.

'I ought to stop by and say hello to the others,' he explained. 'Lest they think I'm playing favourites by only visiting you.'

It was a nice change of subject. 'Don't worry, they all know Charlie's the favourite.'

Mr Weasley laughed loudly, and he wearily shook his head in exasperation. 'Not any more!' he declared, happily playing along with the joke about which child was the favourite. 'He wrote to Molly and I that he was bringing our very first grandchild to meet us. Naturally we were thrilled, but we should have known better. It was a dragon egg, of course.'

Harry too began to laugh, able to imagine the look of glee on Charlie's face when he rocked up to the Burrow with his parent's grandchild. 'He's been waiting for years to pull that one.'

'Well he's carrying it around like it _is_ his own baby. Waiting for it to hatch, apparently. No doubt it's the closet to a grandchild we'll get from him.'

It wasn't long before the bell rang to signal the start of morning break, and they continued to wait while Mr Weasley filled him in on Charlie's visit from abroad. Though Harry wished they could have talked about something else too, specifically the Order and what was going on in the Ministry, soon they were surrounded by other students, making it unsafe to talk.

'Dad!' Ron exclaimed when he arrived from Divination, looking worried at first. 'What's going on?'

'Oh, just here to look in on something with Harry,' Mr Weasley explained, hugging his youngest son.

'Ahh, the Auror thing. How'd it go?' he asked Harry.

Given the time and place there wasn't much Harry could do to explain, and so settled for a quick nod. Ron headed off with Mr Weasley so they could find Ginny and the twins, while to Harry's relief Hermione wasn't far away and joined him only a few minutes later. She dropped her heavy school bag to the ground as she sat down beside him, looking rather breathless and flushed.

'What's wrong with you?' he asked in concern, digging out her Transfiguration homework to return.

'Nothing,' she shook her head. 'Just rushed here, that's all. You sure you're done with this?' she asked, taking her homework back.

'Yeah, I've got enough, thanks. So, nothing happened?'

'No, of course not.'

'Right. And the Potter Stinks badge on your bag is just something you're trying out?'

Her eyes widened in alarm as she looked down at her bag, seeing the badge in question and then hurriedly pointing her wand to vanish it. She looked at him apologetically, and then finally admitted she'd run into a spot of trouble with Pansy Parkinson as they left Arithmancy.

'I don't want to talk about that cow,' she said bluntly, her words unusually harsh. Paranoid, she was checking over the rest of her bag and then her uniform, making sure there were no more errant badges.

'McGonagall pulled me out of Divination,' he told her, changing the subject. 'I'm already done with Scrimgeour.'

'How'd it go?'

'Fine. They showed me pictures, asked me to identify anyone I knew. Basically just repeated what I already told them.'

'And, you're okay?'

He nodded, unfurling his Transfiguration homework to finish off the last few bits. His quill was poised over the parchment, ready…but his attention was elsewhere. 'I think Scrimgeour is starting to grow on me.'

'Really? You've been so uncomplimentary of him.'

Harry shrugged, beginning to write. He wasn't sure how to articulate that it finally seemed like Scrimgeour cared about what happened to him without sounding petulant.

'Are you sure you're okay?' Hermione asked again.

Understanding the root of her concern, for no doubt she and Ron had picked up on those unexpected moments when he couldn't hold it together, Harry nodded again. 'Yes, I'm okay,' he said honestly. Nevertheless he quickly changed the subject. 'Do you know what you're going to do after Hogwarts?'

'No, not really. I mean, maybe. I think so.'

'Go on then.'

'Well over the summer I was supposed to have a tour of The College of Law,' she said hesitantly. 'I think I'd like to study law. It might help with SPEW, you know.'

Harry looked at her in awe, not at all surprised by her high ambitions. 'You're going to get a law degree?'

'Well, maybe. There are bridging courses for witches and wizards who want to go on to Muggle universities,' she explained, sounding rather excited. 'I was asking Lupin about them over the summer. He was going to accompany my mum and dad when they took me to the tour, but I had to go to Grimmauld Place instead. It would be a lot of work, but I got a course guide and law seems fascinating. And think of the applications it would have to the Ministry of Magic, even just the study of government and politics, and human rights. Criminal justice too - think of the applications it would have to someone like Sirius.'

Hermione continued talking passionately, and Harry let her continue, because clearly she enjoyed being able to talk about something like this without Ron interjecting and rolling his eyes. Besides, it was a nice distraction just hearing his friends talk about something so excitedly, even if it was to do with SPEW.

When break was finished they made their way to the next class, Ron breathlessly catching up with them just as McGonagall opened the door. 'Lucky. She'd have had my head if I was late again.'

Harry didn't bother explaining that he suspected today at least, McGonagall would be somewhat understanding of Harry or his friends being late. When they sat down to begin class he noted that she was particularly nice to the whole class today, not that she was ever openly unkind. Though she hadn't been listening to his testimony she of course knew what it would have been about. When he handed in his last minute homework he knew she would be aware of his late finish, the quality made that painfully obvious, but he rather hoped it might scrape him an Acceptable if anything for sympathy.

It was McGonagall that bolstered his idea, supporting the notion that Fudge knew what he was doing by going on the media circuit. Everyone was hearing Fudge's side of the story again and again, he was the only person coming out and saying something - the only one giving people something worth listening to even if it were complete rubbish.

Today's Transfiguration lesson was theory based, and though McGonagall was usually worth paying attention to, today Harry's mind wandered. It was one thing to sit back and be a good little boy while Dumbledore made headway with Fudge and the Ministry...it was something else entirely to sit back and watch while he did nothing.

While McGonagall lectured and everyone else took notes Harry twirled his quill around in his fingers, a loose plan of action coming to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay dear readers - hope that you enjoyed the chapter and that it was worth the wait. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Massive thanks to those who leave reviews, especially the routine reviewers, it is always really encouraging and brings an extra element of enjoyment to the process!


	32. Chapter 32 - Christmas at Grimmauld Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 32 - Christmas at Grimmauld Place

It felt impossible that just a few days ago Harry had been at school, and that everything had been perfectly normal. They had been counting down the days until Christmas break, Harry for the first time ever looking forward to not spending it at Hogwarts. The meeting with Scrimgeour and Kingsley had receded out of mind once the evening's DA meeting started, their last class of the year, and he and Cho had kissed...but that night everything changed.

The horrible nightmare he'd experienced was very real - Harry knew it was the moment he awoke twisted in the bedsheets. It was real because he had seen it, he was there...Mr Weasley laying on the floor, covered in blood as Harry lunged at him again and again, attacking. Days later the memory of seeing that still made him feel ill.

Just like over the summer they were all holed up at Grimmauld Place again, the Weasleys using Headquarters as a base so they could be close to St Mungos. Mr Weasley was going to make a full recovery from Nagini's attack, of that the Healers were confident, but he wouldn't be released until they could make the bleeding stop. The news had come as a great relief to them all, even though the good news was noticeably dampened by the notion that Harry had something to do with what happened - even if it was beyond his control.

For days now Harry had been stewing over it, wrapped up in the misery of the belief that he had somehow been involved. He was scared to sleep, afraid of what he would do next, or what he would see. Looking back on the day that Mr Weasley was attached he vividly remembered seeing Voldemort and Nagini. During Divination he had nodded off, just for a few moments, and he saw them together. At the time he had brushed it off as a stupid day dream. After all, Trelawney had been talking about snakes and rebirth, and the topic had been bothering him. But it was more than a day dream, he knew that now...it had been a warning.

_Voldemort stroked Nagini tenderly, whispering to her in Parsletongue...Tonight._

The visions and strange feelings had only escalated that night, and in the immediate aftermath he had told Sirius about what he felt inside him in Dumbledore's office. But his godfather's response had left him wanting. He had been completely dismissive, insisting that Harry only needed to get some sleep and everything would be fine. It had taken days for him to feel confident that Voldemort hadn't possessed him, Ginny had made that clear enough, but he wasn't done prying Sirius for information.

It wasn't unreasonable that he expect to know why this had happened, and to know the people around him were safe - that he wasn't a threat to them. What had happened lingered in the forefront of his mind, vivid images he could not rid himself of - Mr Weasley's frightened face, the blood that spilled everywhere…the sight of him slumped over in that dark corridor.

Determined to talk about it properly Harry had set about cornering Sirius. His habits had not changed in the months that had passed since his return to Hogwarts, and Sirius could still be found to have retreated upstairs when he needed peace and quiet. Buckbeak was gone now, having been rechristened Witherwings and returned to Hagrid. Sirius had seemed pleased by the change, having often said it was cruel of them to keep Buckbeak here, but no doubt he was miserable from missing him, particularly when there was no one else around at Headquarters but Kreacher.

The first Saturday after Mr Weasley's attack was when Harry sought Sirius out, tracking him down to the old master bedroom upstairs. It was completely cleared out now, the straw cleaned up from the old timber floors, the scratched furniture discarded and the smell of feathers and manure completely dissipated. It seemed Sirius had gone a few steps further than simply cleaning up, having removed all the serpent light fittings before tearing down the wallpaper. The walls and floor were left completely bare now, the room echoing as Harry crossed it to reach the small terrace that overlooked the city skyline. It was there he knew he would find Sirius.

'Harry, what are you doing up here?' Sirius said in alarm, seeing he was wearing only a thin jumper. 'You'll freeze to death. Go back inside.'

Standing his ground, Harry shook his head. 'I need to know what's going on. With Voldemort and me.'

Sirius looked exasperated with him. 'I told you not to worry,' he implored. 'Everything is going to be fine. Go back inside.'

Determined to get what he needed Harry refused point blank, and he didn't suppress a shiver of cold that struck him. Seeing that his hand was being forced Sirius finally relented, and he ushered Harry inside. In the privacy of the master bedroom they began to talk, a little more freely than they had in the pantry the morning after Mr Weasley's attack.

'Last summer you told me Dumbledore was worried about what Voldemort might do if he knew I was close to him. Don't you think Voldemort might be…inside me?'

'What happened to Arthur was not your fault,' Sirius said vehemently.

'But I felt him! That night in Dumbledore's office, I felt him Sirius.'

'We don't know that's what happened.'

Harry shook his head, his heart sinking lower and lower. 'I do know,' he said with certainty. 'I told you…it was like I wanted to hurt Dumbledore. That's not me - it's got to be him! But Ginny said if he was possessing me, I wouldn't remember it…so what's he doing?'

Sirius paused, looking at a loss - and this was not at all comforting. 'I don't know, Harry. But what happened to Arthur was not your fault. You didn't do that. Do you understand that, Harry?'

'B-but I could have,' he insisted, unable to forget the powerful hatred that had surged within him the night he looked Dumbledore in the eye. 'You're not listening. I wanted to hurt Dumbledore. What if I actually did?'

'Harry, y-'

'What if I can't stop myself, because Voldemort's doing something to me!'

'Harry, stop!' Sirius said abruptly, seizing him by the shoulders to make him listen. 'You're panicking. You're not thinking straight. What happened to Arthur had nothing to do with you. You saved his life by seeing it.'

Looking away Harry brushed Sirius's hands off his shoulders, not at all comforted or reassured by his words. He still wasn't listening, he still didn't comprehend that Harry had wanted to do something terrible…he didn't get it that Voldemort was somehow inside him.

'Then, why isn't this a good thing?' he questioned boldly. 'If I saved Mr Weasley's life, then this was a good thing.'

'No, Harry…this was not a good thing,' Sirius said wearily, leaning against the bare wall with his arms folded across his chest. 'You saw this from the snake's perspective.'

There it was...confirmation of something else that had occurred to him already. 'It wasn't Voldemort in me. It was me in Voldemort.'

'Yes. At least, that's what Dumbledore thinks.'

'But if…if I saw what he was doing, this has to be a good thing,' he questioned, not understanding why it wasn't. 'If I did it again, I could spy on him.'

Alarmed by the eagerness in Harry's tone Sirius looked up, unfolding his arms. 'No, Harry. If you're slipping into Voldemort's mind that's a very bad thing. He could think you're doing it intentionally. He could retaliate.'

'But it saved Mr Weasley.'

'And endangered you,' Sirius argued vehemently. 'Harry, don't ever question that the Order members sign up for this knowing that we may give our lives. Specifically that we may give our lives to protect you from Voldemort.'

'I didn't ask anyone to do that.'

' _Dumbledore_ asked us to, and we all agreed. Even Arthur and Molly. So don't get it in your head that this connection with Voldemort is a way for you to keep an eye on things for the Order, because it's not. It's dangerous.'

Still unhappy about it, Harry managed to nod his head in agreement. 'So, what do we do about it? I-if I'm getting into Voldemort's head and he's getting into mine, what do we do?'

'I don't know.'

'Should I even be here?' he asked, pleading for reassurance. 'Maybe I should go somewhere else…'

'You're safest here.'

'What about everyone else?'

Sirius wasn't having it. 'Dumbledore knows what he's doing,' he insisted, taking a deep breath before he continued. 'There's a reason Hermione came here instead of going straight to her parents, and there's a reason the Weasley's are here beyond convenience. They're here for you, but none of us would have them here if it wasn't safe. Can you at least trust that?'

Taken aback by this, Harry nodded slowly. 'Yes. What am I supposed to do now?'

'I don't know,' Sirius admitted again, sounding defeated. 'But what I do know, is that you and your safety is Dumbledore's only priority. Mine too,' he added. 'And if Dumbledore says you're safe here, that's good enough for me.'

These assurances were of only small comfort. He trusted Dumbledore…but was blindly trusting someone enough?

'Do you think it could happen again?'

To his relief, Sirius didn't just tell him what he wanted to hear. 'If Voldemort knows then I don't think he'd let you into his head again. But he might try to get into yours.'

It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he was grateful for Sirius's honesty. 'Maybe I shouldn't be sharing a room with Ron. What if Voldemort made me do something to him?'

'Dumbledore says everyone is safe here,' Sirius implored yet again. 'You don't need to be scared, Harry. Dumbledore is going to take care of this.'

Not being scared was easier said than done, but at least this time Sirius hadn't brushed him off completely. Acknowledging how scared Harry was of something happening a second time Sirius had taken to spending the nights in Harry and Ron's room, transformed into Padfoot and curling up on the floor beside Harry's bed. He'd often claimed to sleep better as a dog, and didn't seem bothered by the arrangement - and to Harry it came as a relief.

The idea of sleeping in the same room as his best friend when Voldemort could possibly make him do something…it didn't make it any easier to fall asleep at night. It took a couple of days for Harry to start feeling okay again, to get over the temptation to make a run for it in order to protect the other occupants of Grimmauld Place.

Hermione stayed for a few days before joining her parents in France, having not seen them in months, while Harry and the Weasleys spent a very festive Christmas between Grimmauld Place and St Mungos. They visited Mr Weasley frequently and spent New Years Eve there, though they had been forced to return to Grimmauld Place before the night wore on too late and the streets became crowded with Muggle party-goers.

As Christmas turned into January and their return to Hogwarts drew near Harry could see Sirius becoming moody and sullen, and he didn't blame him. For the first time ever Harry did not want to go back to Hogwarts. He didn't want to leave Sirius here with only Kreacher for company, nor did he want to return to school and live under Umbridge's tyranny. If he didn't have the DA to keep him going he would have cracked, would have begged Sirius to let him leave school and stay at Grimmauld Place with him. Surely some wizards were homeschooled by their parents?

As the days passed no word came from Dumbledore, at least none that reached Harry's ears. If there was a plan or something in mind to keep him from slipping into Voldemort's head again it would be news to Harry. Whatever the plan was, he had reluctantly accepted that he would be the last to know anyway.

The last Friday before they departed Grimmauld Place came too quickly, and seemed to coincide with an Order meeting that saw Harry and the others banished upstairs for the remainder of the afternoon. Nothing had changed from the previous summer and every attempt to eavesdrop on was made, including Ginny who valiantly ate a Nosebleed Nougat and headed downstairs as people were arriving. But her efforts were in vain, for Mrs Weasley had suspected there would be games afoot and headed her off before she could reach the landing.

'Shame Hermione's not here anymore,' Ginny moaned, laying back on the couch as she pinched her bloody nose. 'Mum would have believed her in a heart beat.'

When the Order meeting concluded in the early evening they were finally allowed downstairs, pleasantly surprised to find a number had stayed back for dinner. Mr Weasley would be released from St Mungos the following morning, so many of the Order were spending the night at Grimmauld Place before escorting him back.

Seeing an opportunity to do something that had been on his mind for a while, Harry jumped on it. Ignoring the place at the table Ron had set for him, Harry took his plate and subtly moved around to the other side, making sure he would sit by Kingsley and corner him at the end of the table. For two weeks now he had been mulling over something in his head, something completely unrelated to what had happened to Mr Weasley. But recently he had lost enthusiasm for the idea, it all seemed trivial and less important now…but still he jumped at the chance to enquire.

Dinner that night was a loud and raucous affair, everyone in good spirits about Mr Weasley's good health and impending discharge. Aside from Sirius who was upstairs, sulking probably, everyone else was talking and laughing at great length, allowing Harry to hold a much quieter, more private conversation with Kingsley.

'I've been meaning to ask you something,' Harry murmured, wondering how to phrase this. Cornering Kingsley had been an impromptu idea, he hadn't thought this far ahead. 'Something you might not like.'

Having not missed a thing, Kingsley was already braced for Harry to bring something to his attention. 'Go on,' he prompted softly. A moment later he laughed merrily at a joke George made, hiding his quiet conversation with Harry.

'The transcript of the statement I made last August, to Madam Bones. I'm allowed a copy of that, aren't I?'

'You just have to write in a request for it.'

'Say I did,' Harry began very slowly. 'Would it hurt things if that transcript happened to…' He trailed off, hoping Kingsley would catch on, that he wouldn't make him say the words. 'If it happened to get out?'

Kingsley didn't respond at first, his fork poised in mid-air as he looked across the table, pretending to listen to a story Tonks was telling at great length. 'You want to make your statement even more public?'

'I've thought about it.'

Kingsley put down his fork now, brow furrowed as he took a drink of Butterbeer. He seemed to share a brief glance with Lupin at the other end of the table, but nothing more than a glance. 'To what end, Harry?' he questioned, looking back to him now. 'What would you hope to achieve?'

Harry began to regret bringing this up at all, more and more certain that it was indeed a trivial pursuit, even vain. But he'd opened the door now. 'Fudge gets to walk around saying whatever the hell he likes. I just wonder why I have to sit down and shut up.'

Kingsley murmured something under his breath, it sounded like agreement. But unspoken words lingered between them, and a few moments later he elaborated. 'There's a lot to be said about a calculated silence. Why engage the media in a fight you cannot win?'

'I'm the one who has to live with my silence,' he stated, thinking about how much he dreaded his return to Hogwarts. 'I just need to know if it would hurt things for the Aurors.'

'You're playing with fiendfyre,' Kingsley warned. 'Doing something like this could blow up in your face. Life could become even more difficult.'

Disagreeing, Harry shook his head. 'There's nothing I said to Madam Bones that should hurt us, right? I didn't say anything about the Order or Snape, it was all about Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I just need to know it's not going to screw things up for you.'

It seemed as though Kingsley was going to argue the point, but just as he parted his lips he seemed to think better of himself. Instead he paused, taking a mouthful of his dinner as he pondered Harry's words.

'The last thing we need is the likes of Lucius Malfoy thinking the Ministry took your statement seriously. We need them to keep thinking it's only the Order after them.'

'Right,' Harry murmured in disappointment. He had wondered if this might come up, and he was glad he had asked. Nevertheless he didn't say anything else...if Kingsley didn't want him to do this he was going to have to say so explicitly.

'Will you let me think about it?' Kingsley finally asked. 'Let me revisit the transcript and see how much shit would hit the fan before you do anything.'

'Sure. You'll tell me if I can do it then?'

'Yes. You know I'll have to tell Professor Dumbledore.'

This offhand comment irked Harry to no end. 'If he's got a problem with it, tell him to talk to me.' It was a thinly veiled jab, one he couldn't help but make even though he understood Dumbledore's position. 'Thanks Kingsley.'

Saying nothing more on the subject Harry excused himself from the table, taking his plate and utensils to the sink and leaving them there. The twins were cleaning up that night, and confident his part was done he simply collected two Butterbeers from the pantry and made a quick departure, stopping only to thank Mrs Weasley and Lupin for cooking.

'There's a plate for you downstairs,' Harry announced, stepping out onto the cold terrace upstairs. 'Figured you'd eat later.'

Sirius was exactly where Harry knew he would be find him, sitting on the terrace in the cold night air. Though he came up here for privacy and solitude he never seemed to mind when Harry joined him, something he did frequently, for it was about the only time they got to hang out just the two of them.

'Butterbeer,' Sirius moaned in feigned protest. Nevertheless he took out his wand and tapped both bottles, warming them up before taking one. He patted his stomach as he put his feet up on the terrace railing. 'Oh, to have the metabolism of a fifteen year old.'

Harry laughed, taking a seat and putting his feet up in the same fashion, tipping back on the rear legs of the chair just for fun. 'How did the Order meeting go?'

'Very well,' Sirius replied, the only answer he ever gave to this question.

'Any word from Dumbledore?'

There was no need to clarify that Harry was asking about how he was supposed to protect himself from slipping into Voldemort's mind.

'None yet.'

This too was the same answer Sirius had given whenever Harry had asked this particular question, except this time he detected a little dishonesty. Sirius hadn't quiet met his eye when he spoke, and had answered a little too quickly.

'You warm enough?' he asked in concern, looking Harry up and down. 'Don't want you catching a cold.'

Before he answered Sirius had cast a warming charm on him, one that allowed him to enjoy the cold night air without suffering it. Grateful for it Harry began to relax, looking out across the city skyline…but it was harder to enjoy it tonight.

'If I asked you to let me stay here instead of go back to Hogwarts, would you let me?'

Sirius didn't answer for a long moment. 'That bad, huh?'

'Pretty much,' Harry shrugged unhappily. 'So? Would you?'

Though he hadn't expected any different, he was still disappointed when Sirius shook his head. 'Even if I said yes, you know it couldn't happen.'

Harry nodded. 'What about Easter and Summer?'

'You should probably stay at school over Easter, you'll need the time to get ready for your exams. As for summer, don't get your hopes up. You have to go back to Privet Drive, you know that.'

Feeling he'd rather be lied to right now, Harry found he didn't appreciate Sirius's blunt honesty. 'That could have done with a little sugar coating.'

'You want sugar coating, go to Molly.'

There was no perceptible change of tone, but Harry felt a sudden coolness emanating from his godfather, for the first time getting the feeling that his presence up there wasn't actually welcome. He had come up here planning to tell Sirius about his idea to go public with his story, but he shied away from that now. It wouldn't be well received - Sirius had made that clear.

'It's a bit cold out here, actually,' he said shortly, making sure Sirius heard the discontent in his voice. 'Good night.'

Going back inside he felt even more deflated than before, and taking his warm Butterbeer he headed downstairs to join the others who had slowly begun coming up to the drawing room, Ginny and Ron having brought out a board game. Tonks and Emmeline Vance had joined Mrs Weasley, the three of them sharing a bottle of wine together as the atmosphere grew merry. It made it easier for Harry to fake enthusiasm as he joined in and passed the evening away.

Later that night when he and Ron went up to bed he was disappointed to find that Sirius was not there already, and that he did not join them either. Ron asked where Sirius was, the first time he had made any mention of the fact that Sirius was sleeping in their room, and Harry just shrugged, not wanting to answer. Like with everything else the explanation felt trivial. Who was he to complain about a squabble with Sirius when Ron's dad was in hospital, having nearly lost his life?

He went to bed trying not to dwell on things too much, but still wishing he could have gotten off his chest the idea of taking his story public. It was one thing to mention it to Kingsley, but it had been Sirius's opinion he really craved…hell, he had hoped for the unrestrained support he usually gave this kind of rebellious act.

Somehow Harry managed to fall asleep, despite still feeling uneasy about the possibility that he might again accidentally slip into Voldemort's mind. His funny dreams never wavered, he saw the long corridor again and was reaching his hand out for the door when something roused him. He abruptly sat up, worried that it was Kreacher sneaking in to lurk around. But it was a far taller silhouette that came inside, one that promptly shrunk down to knee level the moment the door clicked shut.

Ron continued to softly snore while Padfoot jumped up onto the end of Harry's bed. Without a word Harry lay back down, still feeling annoyed with his godfather. Nevertheless he moved over and made room for him, watching as he turned in circles and then laid down, his head resting on Harry's knee.

Still mad at his godfather for his dismissive answers to just about everything, Harry nevertheless began to feel a little better than night. Having Sirius sleeping in the same room over the last few weeks had been a much needed reassurance that should something happen again, someone could do something to stop him. Comforted by this knowledge, Harry slowly drifted off into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never liked how Harry was ambushed by Hermione with the Quibbler interview. I get why JKR left out the pre-planning of the interview, but him not being involved in the choice until he was ambushed robbed him of all agency. So I've gone with this deviation from the original plot and hope the new angle makes for an enjoyable read.
> 
> Thanks for the reviews, really appreciate them all!


	33. Chapter 33 - Occlumency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 33 - Occlumency

The Christmas break passed with unusually cruel speed, Hermione's return from France signalling the final weekend that positively flew by. The only bright part was Mr Weasley's impending discharge from St Mungos. He would be arriving at Grimmauld Place Saturday evening to rest up for a few more days, and then after Harry and the others had returned to Hogwarts he and Mrs Weasley would head on home to the Burrow.

Harry was still dreading his return to school, for nothing had or was going to change. His problems would still be there waiting for him. It would be another three long months until Easter break, and even then it was unusual for students to go home, particularly fifth and seventh years who would be preparing for their exams. But Harry had decided already he wasn't spending a second more in Hogwarts than he absolutely had to. Even the prospect of returning to the Dursleys over the summer didn't seem so bad. At least there he could count on one hand the number of people who hated him.

Then, on the very last day of the holidays, something happened that made Harry positively dread his return to school.

'Harry, dear,' said Mrs Weasley, poking her head into his and Ron's bedroom, where the pair of them were playing wizard chess watched by Hermione, Ginny and Crookshanks, 'could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you.'

Harry did not immediately register what she had said; one of his castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Ron's and he was egging it on enthusiastically. 'Squash him – squash him, he's only a pawn, you idiot. Sorry, Mrs Weasley, what did you say?'

'Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word.'

Harry's mouth fell open in horror. He looked around at Ron, Hermione and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully on to the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices.

'Snape?' said Harry blankly.

'Professor Snape, dear,' said Mrs Weasley reprovingly. 'Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long.'

'What's he want with you?' said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs Weasley withdrew from the room. 'You haven't done anything, have you?'

'No!' said Harry indignantly, racking his brains to think what he could have done that would make Snape pursue him to Grimmauld Place. Had his last piece of homework perhaps earned a 'T'?

He was most reluctant to go down there, to face Snape of all people. Aside from being a miserable git who constantly singled him out in class, Snape had literally tortured him just seven months ago - and Harry still had the scars to prove it.

Before he went back to Hogwarts in September he had naively thought that things would change between them, that Snape might quit giving him such a hard time during class. But it wasn't to be, and if anything Snape had been worse than usual.

At times Harry wondered if Snape was trying to protect his status as a double agent, anticipating that one day Voldemort would question Harry again, and that he would break. Snape had said so himself, that there could be no hint of sympathy or concern for Voldemort's enemies. Yet it just made him hate Snape even more, the gulf between them wider than ever and unable to be crossed - there would never be peace between them.

When he entered the kitchen he found Sirius and Snape sitting at the table opposite one another, just as they had a few months ago. Back then Snape had admitted to being the one who tortured him, convincing Voldemort it was the right move to let him go free. It felt strange that the three of them were back here again, and that little had changed between them.

Sirius and Snape were pointedly looking in different directions, avoiding one another like the plague. Hesitantly Harry entered the kitchen, holding his breath when Snape looked up at him, lifting his chin, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair. Harry sat down beside Sirius, looking at him for an indication of what this was about, if something was wrong, but Sirius gave away nothing.

'I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,' said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, 'but Black –'

'I'm his godfather,' said Sirius, loudly.

'I am here on Dumbledore's orders,' said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, 'but by all means stay, Black. I know you like to feel … involved.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' said Sirius, letting his chair fall back on to all four legs with a loud bang.

'Merely that I am sure you must-'

Harry cut Snape off before he could continue, uninterested in listening to the two of them fight. 'What's this about?' he asked abruptly. 'What orders from Dumbledore?'

Snape dragged his glare away from Sirius and turned to Harry instead. 'The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term. Occlumency is the magical defence of the mind against external penetration.'

Harry's heart fell into his stomach, realising this must be about Mr Weasley and that night. But his mind raced in confusion as he tried to understand, glancing at Sirius for clarification.

'But Voldemort wasn't possessing me,' he argued. 'I remember everything, so he wasn't possessing me.'

'No. The Dark Lord was not possessing you,' Snape agreed, looking impatient that he had to explain any of this. 'It seems that when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable - when you are asleep for instance - you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions.'

'So I _can_ see into his head?'

Things were beginning to fall into place. This at least made sense, and it was what he and Sirius had already been worried about - the notion that he might have slipped into Voldemort's mind accidentally, and that it might happen in reverse. Hearing it explained by someone else so plainly was a relief. Yet Snape didn't seem pleased, his eyes narrowing at Harry's relieved expression.

'No doubt you are labouring under the delusion that what you saw that night was a good thing.'

That hadn't been what he was thinking - at least not anymore - but the accusation annoyed him. 'It did save Mr Weasley's life.'

'And endangered yours.'

'Don't pretend to care.'

At this he knew he had struck a cord, but rather than being admonished, Snape only became more condescending. He lifted his chin a little, sneering down at Harry much in the way Lucius Malfoy did.

'Yes, I suppose someone who risks their own life to save another's does not care,' Snape said quietly.

Furthering Harry's annoyance he felt Sirius's hand on his knee below the table, a clear signal to settle down. _Really?_ Harry thought to himself. _Against Snape, Sirius wanted him to settle down?_ This was quite the change from the last time the three of them were in a room together.

'The Dark Lord was unaware of any connection between you and himself until very recently. Until now, you have been experiencing his emotions and sharing his thoughts, without him being any the wiser. Now though, the Dark Lord is aware and has deduced that the process can work in reverse. That is to say, he might be able to access your thoughts in return.'

Harry nodded, understanding. 'And he might make me do things?

'He might,' said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. 'Which brings us back to Occl-'

'How do you know?'

'How do I know, what?'

'You said he had deduced the process might work in reverse. How do you know that?'

Snape paused, staring at him. Beside him Sirius's tension grew, and he visibly shifted in his seat, he too wanting to know this answer.

'Because he told me.'

Harry was taken aback, blinking in surprise. It never failed to completely knock the wind out of him to think that Snape was part of Voldemort's inner circle. It was easier to just maintain the pretence that Snape was a much despised Potions teacher and nothing more. The very thought that he might be leaving Hogwarts to go to Voldemort's aid for anything was horrifying.

'What did you talk about?'

'The very thing that Professor Dumbledore fears. The opportunity for the Dark Lord to use this connection with you as means to use or harm you.'

'What's he planning?'

Snape grew visibly impatient with Harry's continued questioning, yet he answered.

'Nothing yet. But only a fool would trust that the Dark Lord would confide such plans in me. The only safe thing to assume is that he will utilise this connection for his personal gain, or to bring you to harm.'

'Why wouldn't he tell you? Haven't you proved yourself to him enough?'

'Apparently I did not,' Snape sneered, his upper lip curling.

Harry knew exactly what he was getting at, for it had been on his own mind too. Snape had tortured him at Malfoy Manor as means to prove his allegiance to Voldemort, to prove he had no interest in his wellbeing. Perhaps he hadn't done quiet enough to earn Voldemort's trust…perhaps he should have done more.

Finally Sirius spoke up now, trying to soothe Harry's concerns. 'We're planning for the worst. We have to assume Voldemort is going to try and hurt you.'

'Which brings us back to Occlumency,' Snape said shortly. 'It is Professor Dumbledore's instruction that you are to learn how to defend your mind against external penetration.'

Harry felt relieved to hear that Dumbledore was sorting this out, for the possibility of Voldemort using him or hurting him had been constantly on his mind - to him it was just a matter of when, not if. The knowledge that Dumbledore had a plan to ensure his protection was comforting, but Harry wasn't getting his hopes up. Instead he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was a way to keep Voldemort out of his head, Occlumency. But what was the catch?

Sitting there across from Snape the catch began to dawn on him, and his heart sank.

'Is Dumbledore teaching me?'

Snape raised an eye brow. 'I am.'

Sitting there in horror Harry just looked at Snape, wondering what on earth he had done to deserve this. He turned to Sirius for support, but none came. Sirius just sat there looking at the opposite wall, making Harry question why he had bothered coming in the first place.

'Why can't Dumbledore teach me?' he demanded angrily, disposing with any effort for decorum. 'Why you?'

'I assure you I did not beg for the job.' Snape got to his feet. 'I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.'

'Wait, that's it?'

He looked back at Sirius again, giving him another chance to do something about this, to defend him, but he did nothing. How could anyone expect him to be okay with this? At that thought he felt himself snap, weeks and months of fear and frustration peaking within him - and he couldn't take it anymore. He abruptly got to his feet.

'No!' Harry said angrily. 'No way!'

Stopping nearly at the kitchen door Snape seemed to close his eyes for a moment, looking as though he was praying for patience. But this only infuriated Harry even more. Who was he to need patience? Sanity was what he needed.

Taking a deep breath Harry looked from Sirius to Snape, trying to take a different tact. 'Look, I know why you did all of that to me,' he said reasonably, his voice still angry and harsh. 'I know you did it to save me. But it's bad enough I have to sit through class with you treating me like shit, now you expect me to do more?' He turned back to Sirius. 'I'm not doing it.'

Finally Sirius acted, standing up from the table and turning to Snape. Harry's heart lifted, certain that he had Sirius on his side now, that his godfather would never make him do what Snape had just told them. But inexplicably that was not to be the case.

'You can go,' Sirius said cooly.

Equally cool, Snape jerked his head in what might have been a nod of agreement. 'Monday evening, Potter. Six o'clock.'

Momentarily speechless, Harry watched as Snape simply departed, closing the kitchen door behind himself. 'Sirius, come on! You couldn't possibly think I'd be okay with this.'

'I knew you wouldn't be,' he said wearily, crossing his arms over his chest and then leaning against the kitchen table. He seemed unable to meet Harry's eye, to properly face him as he forced him into this. 'I don't like it either.'

'Why can't Dumbledore teach me?'

'Because the process of learning makes you vulnerable. If Voldemort knows Dumbledore is teaching you that's his window to attack. Snape will keep you safe.'

'Snape tortured me!'

'I know!' Sirius said abruptly. He looked up at Harry now, and the helplessness in his eyes was apparent. 'I felt the same way when Dumbledore told me what needed to happen. But Harry, this is too important. Do you know what Voldemort could do to you?'

'Yeah, I know. He could get into my head.'

Sirius stood up again, unfolding his arms as he came over. 'If he attacks your mind and you can't defend yourself, he could do _anything_ to you,' Sirius said emphatically. 'He could put thoughts in your head that aren't real. He could make you hurt someone, or hurt yourself! Don't you see, Harry?'

For the second time Harry was speechless - for those thoughts had crossed his mind, but only as worst case scenarios. He hadn't let himself put too much stock in them, figuring he was being paranoid, that he was thinking the worst. Would Voldemort really go that far? Would he really manipulate him so deeply that he might hurt someone? Someone like Ron or Hermione?

He still wanted to argue - to say that he couldn't do this, that they were asking too much of him. It didn't matter how much time had passed, he was not strong enough to face Snape like this…

'There's got to be some other way.'

'Harry, you know Snape and I despite one another…but if Dumbledore trusts him then I have to as well. He saved your life Harry, and he didn't have to. I can't forget that.'

'He did have to!' Harry argued, looking for any thread that would allow him to continue despising Snape. 'If he wanted to stay on Dumbledore's good side he did have to.'

Sirius shook his head, arguing just as hard. 'He could have done nothing to help you, and Dumbledore would have been none the wiser that he didn't try. But he risked his life to get you out. And now he's doing it again.'

'Wh-what? Occlumency?'

'Yes. If Voldemort ever found out that Snape was helping you to this extent he'd be furious. Snape would have a hard time getting out of that one.'

Harry sighed, not knowing what to say next - how to express how completely awful this situation was. 'I know all of that. But I...'

He trailed off, unable to say it. He couldn't say that he was too weak to deal with this...too afraid. Not even to Sirius could he say something like that. Standing there in front of his Godfather, who once again was not the source of mindless support he needed, Harry had to resist the impulse to storm out of there. Where would he go if he did? Ron and Hermione would only ask what Snape wanted, and he would need to explain it all to them.

Like divine intervention the kitchen door opened, saving Harry from having to say anything more. The Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pyjamas covered by a mackintosh. 'Cured!' he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. 'Completely cured!'

There was an awkward pause, the Weasley's realising they'd clearly interrupted something, but Harry was relieved. He couldn't face this right now. It was obvious that he was backed into a corner, and as usual there was nothing he could do to better his situation...and he just didn't have it in him to face that right now. In an instant he switched direction, plastering a genuine smile across his face while he pushed aside the miserable situation he now faced.

'That's great news, really great.'

'Yes, isn't it?' said Mrs Weasley, leading her husband forward to a chair. 'Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?' she added, rather menacingly.

'Yes, Molly, dear,' said Mr Weasley meekly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but the next one is kind of interesting! Thanks for the reviews, they are well appreciated.


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